Thrilling Wonder Stories v27n03 (1945 Fall)

of lOMomm

A Noise/ of the Future
,8/HENRY KUTTNER

COSMIC CARAVAN

An fnterp/anetaru Novelet Bit ED WESTON

m.

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n

Vol. XXVII, No. 3
The Magazine of Prophetic Fiction Toll, 1945

Camituj in tUe
AW iiiue

By

EDMOND

HAMILTON

•

THE

DISCIPLINARY

CIRCUIT

A Complete Novelet of
the Era of Perfection

By

MURRAY

LEINSTER

Phis Many Other Nov-
elets, Short Stories and
Features?

A COMPLETE NOVEL OF THE FUTURE

SWORD OF TOMORROW

By

HENBY KIJTTIVER

Trance-borne to a far distant age. Pilot Ethan Court
is plunged into peril and adventure on a strange new
world where bis courage and idealism are put to a
stern test! 11

Two Complete Novelets

SPACE TRAP Polton Cross 40

When his space travelers revert to apes and hb fiancee
vanishes, Ken Richmond fights to smash a conspiracy!

COSMIC CARAVAN Ed Weston 61

A greed-mad band of space adventurers struggles in a uriU
rush for the possession of boandless wealth!

Short Stories
THE NEMESIS OF THE

ASTROPEDE Stanton A- Coblentz S3

Merimtrope plans to deluge the world m blood

INTERLINK John Russell Feorn 72

Ralph Dale battles against a mental phenomenon

ONE CAME BACK George Whitley 79

The first two-way rocket trip to the Moon!

Special Features

THE READER SPEAKS Sergeant Saturn 6

Announcements and letters

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY A Department 95

ON THE COVER: Painting by Earle Beroev depicts a scene in Ed
Western’s complete novelet, COSMIC CARAVAN.

PubUehed Quarterly by STANDARD MAGAZINES. INC..
Pines, President. Copyright, 1945, by Standard Magazines.
15c, Foreign and Canadian postage extra. Entered as second

New York, N. Y.. under the Act of March 3. If

articles are fietitloas. If the name of sny living

10 East 40th Street, New York 13, N. Y. N. U
-ne. Subscription (12 Issues) 11.80, single copies,
d-clasa matter May 21, 1933, at the Post OtSee at
of all characters used In stories and aemi-fletion
existing institution is used, it is a coincidence.

November, 1945, issue

D. S. A.

Read our Companion Science Fiction Magazine — STARTLING STORIES

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“** 09

ce Xone Number)

A Department Conducted by SERGEANT SATURN

B RING out the beautifying mirror, Snaggle-
tooth — and the Xeno juice. Let's see if
I’m still any use!

Uuugghh! Dark worlds and meteor showers!
It's warm this season of the year on the sunny
side of Venus when the fog removers are at
work. So tell me, Frogeyes, why is my tongue
wearing this heavy coat?

Ah, well, slack and Mercurian hop -skip- and -
jumptoads! When mere earthlings dare to defy
the Sarge, anything can happen, even lingual
overcoats in a Venusian July. Next week. Wart-
ears, the Galactic council will probably outlaw
Xeno— but no, that would be the end.

Ah, Xeno. Thank you, Snaggie old tooth. At
times you have your uses. The Sarge feels better
able to face this blast from earth. One, M. Kater-
man of Reading, Pennsylvania — outlandish name
for a place, what, Snaggie?— has defied the Sarge
in the following caterwaul. Caterwaul from
Katerman— not bad for an old space toddler—
and don’t throw any more Venusian crocodile
tears at me, Frogeyes. The Sarge can’t help
half punning. But here is the dire missive that
has reduced us to such pitiful condition:

, in THE READER

SPEAKS and was greatly disappointed and shocked
that you, above all people, should denounce Mr. Farns-
worth and his rocket-to-the-moon ideas as wild.
Frankly I don’t think they are. I am looking f<
to the day whc ' '

Dear Sarge: I read your a

ue, anything

iw-minded, Intolerant

e done. It win

_ science fiction will become

fact. So would any real thinking person v,’ '

eye on the future. But, tragic though tr-
for the development of mankind was

People in general are too narrow -n
and downright stupid to grasp the r<
any new endeavor. If I were *
be more than willing to risk tl
space to prove to you that it

be done in time, regardless oi „ — — —

else may think. Not by me. but by others far better
educated than I am.

We wouldn’t have the modem improvements we
have if their inventors hadn’t been brave enough <o
weather the storm of ridicule that was heaped upon
them. We don’t want to go back to the cave-man
stage, but to go forward to new and better things
A Far richer and fuller life than what we have today
^In spite of everything I do enjoy your magazine
The World. Thinker— Jack Vance
The Shadow Dwellers— Frank Belknap Long
The Deconventionalizers — Edmond Hamilton
I hope you are not angry, but I felt as though I had
to express my own opinions in regards to your article.

The Sarge isn't angry, M. Katerman (do they
call you M. for short, pray chance?). He is
just a trifle baffled and a little disappointed.
Why in the name of the nine moons of Jupiter
(Eeenie, Meenie. Minie, Mo and five others) so
many earthlings wish to reach the Earth moon
is and always has been a puzzler to him. Actu-
ally, it’s a cold, airless place, about as attractive
as your average city dump on a large scale. But
a human called Bamum was apparently right.

What really had the Sarge on edge about frere
Farnsworth’s scrivening was the dire couplet he
emerged with along with his opening demand for
that bane of Earthkind known in some quarters
of the System as moo. Perhaps you, Kiwi Kater-
man, can make it read sensibly. Ye Sarge gave
up after Snaggie, Wart-ears and Frogeyes had
all tried it and failed.

But enough such inane bickering, and thanks
for the kindlier cracks on TWS, Astrogatop
Katerman!

OUR NEXT ISSUE

OW let us look at the roseate fringe of the
future and see what lies in store for us
when THRILLING WONDER STORIES again
returns to Earth,

Superseer Edmond Hamilton takes us a long
way ahead with a fine book-length novel called
FORGOTTEN WORLD. A brilliant prevision of
days to come, it describes that time when, with
space travel conquered, humankind has migrated
and settled upon distant galaxies, has produced a
level of civilization undreamed of today.

Yet occasionally, an acclimated space dweller
suffers from a psychiatric neurosis which can
only be cured by a trip to Earth, the almost
forgotten- still semi-primitive mother planet.
And such a man was Carlin, one of the moat
brilliant engineers of his era.

Disgust at the backwardness of the old world
and its penurious inhabitants makes him almost
betray his hosts, who are threatening to break
all galactic laws by mining the sun for copper,
which Earth has been lacking for many long
ages. But love of an Earth girl and of the old
(Continued on page 8)

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( Continued from page 6)
planet, an almost atavistic urge to help out,
bring him reluctantly into the conspiracy— just
as it is exposed to the authorities.

From then on, things happen — and happen fast
and with all the vast scope of a space-traveling
future. It is one of Hamilton’s top-flight jobs,
and when the creator of Captain Future is at his
best — well, need I say more?

brilliant story of the time ahead by Murray
Leinster, who. like Hamilton, needs no introduc-
tion to TWS readers In it. he describes the re-
bellion of Kim Rendell against a too-perfect
world of science in which the human element
had been all but eliminated — all but! And in
addition to these fine tales, the next issue will
feature plenty of short stories selected from the
best that are sent in to us. You'll find it a solid
issue packed with entertainment.

LETTERS FROM READERS

WJ'ERY well, Wart-eyes, put away the future
" and bring out the present — yes, I do mean
the Xeno, but I mean the letters too. Let's see
what Earthfendom, apart from M. Katerman
(Snaggie, find out that Kiwi’s first name before
I split a curiosity tendril) has to say about our
tight little crew— and I do mean tight.

First on the list is a tale of disaster and a
plea for help from New Zealand. Okay, Frog-
eyes, put it on the visoscreen.

HOWL FROM DOWN UNDER

By Jack R. Murtagh

.I .' '"i b 1

is of STAETLINI

readers may take pity
issues I have missed ai
1941. all; 1942, all; iwj.

1940, 1941. 1942, 1943. 1944.

I would be dellfihtetf'io hear from them. I Tiave
about 30 copies of various science fiction mags I could
exchange. And if any readers are stamp collectors, I
could perhaps help them with New Zealand Issues.

Well. I must think of closing now, so, a question —
why do you call your readers Kiwis? A Kiwi you
doubtless know is an Inhabitant of this country of
mine away Down Under and is a wingless bird with
(Continued on page 88)

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Irclle half turned, lifting her lovely face to Court

Sword of Tomorrow

By HENRY KUTTNER

Trance-borne to a far distant age. Pilot Ethan Court is
plunged into peril and adventure on a strange new world
where his courage and idealism are put to a stern test!

CHAPTER I
Jap Torture Cell

I T WAS always easier when he sank into
the opium-drugged stupor from which
not even torture could rouse him. At
first he clung to two memories — his rank,
and his Army serial number. By focusing

his pain-hazed mind on those realities he was
able to keep sane.

After a while he didn’t want to keep his
sanity.

Men can survive a year, or two years, in
a Japanese prison camp. They may emerge
maimed, spiritually sick, but alive. They
remember their own names.

He used to say it aloud at first, in the

A COMPLETE NOVEL OF THE FUTURE

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

musty darkness of the cell.

“Ethan Court,” he whispered to the black,
hidden walls. “Ethan Court" And then—
“Times Square. Tiffany’s. Bretano’s. Staten
Island. The Yankee Stadium, pop com.
whisky sours, Greenwich Village!"

Presently he noticed that the sound of his
voice was different, and after that he scarce-
ly spoke. The horrible lethargy of inaction
closed around him. Occasionally, though less
often now, he was taken before Japanese
officers who questioned him.

He was somewhere in Occupied China, he
knew, but since his plane had been forced
down, he had been shunted for a long
distance by a roundabout route. He guessed
that this was a temporary headquarters,
probably on the site of some old Chinese
town, and he suspected that it was in the
hill country. His savage captors told him
nothing, of course. They just asked ques-
tions.

How much could he disclose in the way
of military information, the Japanese did
not know. Hard-pressed, they were over-
looking no bets. His stubbornness enraged
them. The commander of the post, a dis-
appointed samurai of a politically-unpopular
family, gradually came to believe that a
feud existed between Court and himself. It
became a contest between the Japanese
officer and the American, entirely passive on
one side, ruthlessly active on the other.

Time dragged on, while bombers roared in
increasing numbers over Japan and the
brown hordes sullenly withdrew from Burma
and Thailand and the islands north of Bor-
neo. This headquarters was isolated, but in
a strategic spot. The commander saw the
tides of war rage past him and recede. The
radio gave him no comfort. The Emperor
of Japan was silent upon his throne.

A transfer required time. In enforced
idleness, the Nipponese commander devoted
himself to breaking the will of the American.
Torture failed, and so he tried an ancient
Japanese trick — opium. It was mixed in
Court’s food, and, after a while, the craving
grew in him. The Jap officer kept his pri-
soner saturated with the drug. Court's
mind dulled.

A MONGOL, Kai-Sieng, was put in
Court’s cell. He was a prisoner, too,
and spoke only a few English words. There
had been an uprising, Court gathered. The
prison cells of the fort were overflowing.
For a month Kai-Sieng remained, and in
that time Court learned of the deceptive
Peace of the Poppy.

Curious conversations they had there in
the dark — scraps of English and Chinese and
lingua franca. The Mongol was a fatalist.
Death was inevitable, and meanwhile he had

killed very many Japanese. The taunts and
torments he had undergone had not moved
him. He knew die hiding-place of his
Chinese guerrilla leader, but the Japs would
not learn it from him.

“They cannot touch me,” he told Court.
"The part of me that is — myself-^— is sunk
deep in a well of peace.”

Yes. he smoked opium. Kai-Sieng said,
but it was not that alone. He had been in
Tibet, at a lamasery. There he had learned
something of the secret of detaching the soul
from the body.

Court wondered.

In military classes, he himself had studied
psych onamics, that strange weapon of psy-
chological defense that is, in essence, self-
hypnotism. Here in a prison cell in China,
from the mouth of a rancid -smelling Mon-
golian guerrilla, he was learning an allied
science — or mysticism.

He told Kai-Sieng something of his fears,
that he would go mad, or that he would be
unable to endure the tortures. His will was .
weakening under the impact of the cannabis
indica, and he was afraid that eventually he
would talk.

“Turn their own weapons against them,”
the Mongolian said. “The poppy smoke is the
opener of the gate. I will teach you what I
can. You must learn to relax utterly in the
central peace of the universe.”

Mysticism, yes, but it was merely a fe^’"
phrasing of psychonamic basics. There was
no candle-flame to focus Court’s attention.
He was sick, body and soul, and relaxation
was impossible.

If his lips ever came unsealed, he might
blurt out everything — including a certain
bit of military information that no Japanese
knew he possessed. It was vital that the
enemy should not get that information, how
vital only Court and a few three-star
generals in the Eastern Theatre knew.
Suicide was impossible. He was watched too
closely for that. And so.- with his eyes open,-
Court walked into the trap his captors had
set and became an opium addict.

Kai-Sieng showed him the way. The
Japanese were only too glad to supply a
layout, and Court found the Peace of the
Poppy. But under the Mongolian’s guidance
he learned somefiiing else, the psychonamic
defense that had come out of a Tibetan
lamasery. It was hard at first, but the opium
helped.

He visualized the sea, deep, calm, immense,
and he let himself sink into the fathomless
depths. The farther down he went, the less
the outside world mattered. Soaked in opium,
his mind drowning in a shoreless ocean, he
sank into the blue deeps, and day by day he
left the prison farther behind. It was psychic
science of a high order, but the Japanese

14

WONDER STORIES

commander did not understand. Hs tottght
tot Court’s will w» growing ixatt pUant,
tot soon he could successfully question a
mind-dulled, helpless dupe.

Kai-Sieng was taken away and sfao 1 .
Dreamily Court knew what was happening.
It did not matter. Nothing mattered, really.
For only the azure sea was read, tot pro-
found deep that took him into its protective
embrace and kept bsrn safer

The opium supply stepped TS» Japs had
grown suspicious. Ifest toy were too late.
Not even the craving of Coiirt’s body for
the drug could wake him from his blue
dream. Not even torture, inhuman and ruth-
less, could bring life back into his eyes. He
had gone down the ancient Tibetan road
and found peace.

But he was not dead. His body, inactive,
required less and less fuel. It was not in-
habited. His mind had gone elsewhere. Like
the blue-robed lamas who are reputed to live
for a thousand years in the Himalayan peaks,
Court was prolonging his life-span by— rest-
ing. The machine of his corporeal existence
was idling. Dimly, in the heart of the
machine, th*> life-spark flickered

He did nof know it. He did not know his
name any more- He remembered nothing.
He locked endlessly in to limpid blue vast-
nsss, while the armies swept across the face
of the world- and Fujiyama’s white cone
reflected theded of burning -cities. He slept,
while the sl&tk-faced planes flew above
him, and white the buddings exploded in
thundering rran. He slept, while his cell was
sea&d in crashing destruction, and the seal
was crimsoned with Japanese blood He stiH
slept, tough-above him, on -the surface of
the earth, snSffiad^a lifeless rubble where a
Japanese fortress once s^ood.

Fermetiea}fe.*J»eked- laeie in the dark,
Ethan Court laf kt rest. In Tibetan monas-
teries ancient priests slept similar sleeps,
and 'wdjce, a*M fidflly died. The earth swung
in its teerpeSous orbit around the sun, and
warring naiukis were stifled.

And there was peace — for a little while.

Hie awakening took many, many years.
The specialized human body is a fragile
organism, and enormously complicated. A
man who has slept for — ages — does not start
up as from a half-hour’s doze. Moreover,
the peculiar psychic factor that made
Court’s slumber possible also made his
quickening a slow process.

There was air, first. It filtered through a
crack in the rubbled roof and stole into
Court’s nostrils. Oxygen crept into his stilled
lungs and infiltrated the nearly motionless

But in his mind tore was no awareness.
The blue seat was deep. A tittle troubled
now — but only a little.

Finally men found him. ~-

He did not know it when a dark, bearded
face peered down into hi* cell, and utoo. a
torch was lowered. He did act hear the
cry of amazement tte ttoa tongue. Nor
did he sense that he was being carried, in
a rough litter, to a village hidden amid
mountain peaks.

MIS clothing had long smee ro tted, but
“ ■ the corroded metal of his dog-tags was
still looped on a rusty chain about his neck,
The tribesmen put to tiny plates in a sacred
place, and, at the command of their priest,
they tended Court. Perhaps some hint of the
holy Tibetan lamas had filtered do*w» through
the ages, for they recognized Chert's sleep •
as something mystic and sacred. "

They washed; him and rubbed fes emaci-
ated body gently with oil. They pressed
between his lips the warmed nmk of the
kharam, which had not existed in the
Twentieth Century, and some toes toy
prayed to him. Vi

The priest himself watched with tired, wfee

hi ood -stream. The red corpuscles fed upon
1 gradually,

it, and the vital spark, slowly and g
flamed brighter.

eyes, and wondered. His people !
written history, only folk-tales tot f aided
into superstitious legends of to da/ wliptL
to gods had destroyed to world--the
who strode with enormous, crashing strides
and left flame behind them. So he wondered.

Meanwhile the peaceful life of to-uomacte.
went on. They bartered and hunted, and"
among them, presently, moved to gai*tt£
figure of Ethan Court, unshaved and strange
in a native tunic. But behind his eyes
— soul— had not wakened.

A psychiatrist might have guessed the'/*
answer. There was psychic trauma presfcnC';
induced by shock and nurtured by to blue
seas in which Court’s awareness still hung
quiescent. A part of his mind ropsed. He
learned the language, word by word — it was -
not complicated— and he would play quiet
games with the children, a blue-eyed,
bearded spectre from the past. He became
accepted as part of to community life. He
was not holy any more. Familiarity had
altered that. But his hosts were friendly, and.
the priest spent long hours trying to find the
key to Court’s soul

Then a change came. A new face swam
into the dark mirror of Court’s reahsatioo,
and afterward, frighteningly new things. He
sank deeper, protectively, into the blue sea.
For he was flying again. That terrified him.
He scarcely sensed his altered surroundings,
to lush magnificence of rainbow plastics
and dim music, and he tried not to reaH*
tot there were tiny pin-pricks of pain now
and then in his arms and legs.

SWORD OF TOMORROW 15

But. something was troubling the waters.
Something reached down inexorably toward
him, groping, seizing, pulling him to the
surface.

Always, now, voices spoke to him in this
new language he had learned. They were
urging him to — to seek someone. Who? They
did not know, but they said that he knew.
They' commanded him to remember — what?

A name.

Whose name?

The blue sea was becoming very shallow.
Waves of troubling, strange music beat upon
him. Color and light quivered and shook
before his puzzled eyes.

The name was— Court Ethan Court!

The blue oblivion washed back. It was
tom asunder like a veil. It fled far away and
was gone, and into the place where it had
been came rushing the memories of the man
who had been Ethan Court

For he remembered now. He was awake.
And, in the moment of that awakening, he
knew that he was in a new world.

CHAPTER II
Air Accident

*B*HE tense faces ringing him altered. He
™ heard a soft “Ah h” of satisfaction from
many lips. Involuntarily he scowled, his
glance flicking from eye to eye. He was half-
reclining in a curious sort of chair. It was a
bulky chair, with coils of tubed light twin-
ing about it A circle of men stood facing
him, watching.

IBs lips tightened.

“What’s going on here?” he said in English.
“Where am I?"

One man, completely bald, with a close-
fitting white garment revealing his skinny
figure, waved the others back. -He spoke a
tongue that Court understood.

“Leave me alone with him now. He is
awake. Call Barlen. Notify the Throne.
Out, now!”

They trooped out through a door that lifted
silenuy in the wall. Court lifted himself out
of the chair where now the shining coils had
dulled. His body felt like an old friend. He
had been using it without realization for a
long while, and he was in good physical
condition. Looking down, he saw that he was
wearing a blue-and-brown figured tunic of
light, pliable material, and shorts of the same
color. There were shoes of elastic, trans-
lucent plastic on his feet.

The room had a strange, exotic appearance.

The walls shimmered with color, soft
pastels, abstract designs that were curiously

soothing in their effect. The furnishings
consisted of a few couches and a littered
table. Court had never before seen such
furniture or such a room.

The bald man was coming toward him.
Court, still frowning, spoke in the new
language.

“What is this? I asked you where I am?
Am 1 a prisoner?”

“No, you’re no prisoner,” the man said.
“You’ve been a patient. I’m Tor KasseL
Can you understand me easily?”

Court nodded, still wary. “This place is
what?"

“My home.” Kassel hesitated. “You know
your name?”

“Naturally. But that’s about all I do
know.”

“Is it?” The dark eyes were intent. “Your
memories haven't returned?”

Court shook his head wearily. “I’m mixed
up. I expected something else. But this is
right, somehow.”

“It is quite right” Kassel’s voice was
gentle. “There are a few things you should
know before you can completely readjust
yourself. As for your health— it is perfect.
For five months you have been here, tinder
my care. Let me see if my theory is correct.
First, are thirsty? Or hungry?”

“No,” Court said. “I just want to know
where I am.”

Tor Kassel rested his thin hand on the
table. “You were in an underground place.
There you fell asleep. You caused that sleep
yourself. It was a hypnosis, self -induced.”
“The opium,” Court said suddenly. He
used the English word. Kassel stared.
“Opium?”

“A — a drug I smoked. It helped me to fall
asleep. It was habit-forming.”'

“You do not have the habit now,” Kassell
said. "Take my word for it Th4 reason —
well, you slept in that hidden place, and time
passed A very long time.”

Court felt his anger rise. “I know quite
well it was a long time. Don’t treat me like
like a child. How long? A thousand years?”
Once the words were out, he felt their
improbability.

Kassel hesitated “I don’t know. We can
estimate the period after you give us a few
facts — the positions of the stars in your era.
Our history goes back only a thousand
years.”

“Who are you? What race?”

“We are Lyrans. That means nothing to
you, does it?”

“No.” Court mused “A thousand years.
Why, only that far back? What year is
this? Three thousand something?”

“Seven-eighty-four,” Kassel told him.
“Dating from the time of the First Pact, when
a few wandering tribes banded together.”

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“All right. Maybe I don’t understand
you.”

"You have a barbarous accent, and you
haven't learned our colloquialisms,” Kassel
said. “But you learned the language very
well during your stay with the Mouranee
nomads. You were — mentally asleep — then,
but you must have been with the Mouranee
for several years.”

“I want a mirror," Court said abruptly.

TTHE bald man walked to one of the shim-
*• mering walls and made an odd gesture.
An oval in the bright surface dimmed and
turned silver.

“Here,” Kassel said.

Court moved forward hesitantly, un-
easily. Whatever he expected to see, it was
not the old Ethan Court, of course. But
neither had he expected to see a grimy,
beared savage. Yes, he had grown older.
There were streaks of white at his temples,
and his brown face was thinner. Deep lines
bracketed his lips. Under scowling dark
brows his blue eyes were sparkling
suspiciously.

Kassel remained near him, talking. “An
ethnologist and historian of our race found
you with the Mouranee tribe. They learned
what they could of your history. You had
been found, half -alive, in an ancient, under-
ground chamber. The Mouranee took you
to their village and treated you.”

“I remember,” Court said. “Yes, I re-
member that.” He touched his lips with
hesitating fingers. This flesh— stiD firm and
alive after more than a thousand years?
Perhaps more than — ten thousand!

But he could not believe that. Kassel had
cupped something small and bright in his
palm.

“These were found with you. Our scientist
could not read them, naturally, but he
recognized some of the letters and figures.
A very ancient tongue — it is a lost language
today, except for a few transcriptions on
metal that we cannot decipher.”

He dropped the objects in Court’s hand.
Newly-polished, they were shockingly famil-
ial-. Suddenly they were the only real thing
in this alien place. Name — blood type
typhoid shot — serial number.

Kassel went on. “You were brought here.
We guessed the possible importance of our
find. Suspended animation is possible today,
but that it should have existed in your era
is extraordinary. When was it?”

“Nineteen-forty -four,” Court .said. “Or
Nineteen-forty-five. I don’t know."

' Well, that doesn’t tell me much, I’m
afraid. Our chronology is different What
were you?”

The man's meaning was clear. “Artist,
once. And soldier, after that.”

Sudden relief showed in Kassel’s hairless
face. “Good. There are artists today, but no
soldiers. We have peace, or we have had.
Court, you must be instructed regarding our
times.”

The door opened. Through it came a giant
figure, a ruddy-faced man with a golden
spade beard and mane of yellow hair. His
clothes were garishly flamboyant. Sweat
beaded his high cheek-bones.

“Tor Kassel.” he said hurriedly. “I came
for the patient ” He saw Court. “He is awake,
then!”

“He’s awa...

“Good! Come with me. you! At once!"
Kassel’s eyes gleamed. “What the devil
do you mean? This is my home, Barlen!
This man Court is my patient. He’ll go with
you if I permit it. Not otherwise.”

Court’s gaze moved from face to face.
“Do I have anything to say about this?"
he asked.

Barlen stared. Kassel nodded.

"Certainly. You may do as you choose.
And I’ll see that no one tries to bring pres-
sure.” He glared St the big man.

Barlan’s teeth gleamed amid his yellow
beard as he grinned.

“So I must apologize again,” he said. “To
you — my friend — and to you — Tor Kassel, I
make my excuses. Forgive my impatience.
But you’ll admit I have reason., KasseL"
“Perhaps you do. Yes, I think you do’
Just the same, Ethan Court is still my
patient.”

“He’s something more than that.” Barlen
showed his teeth. “The Throne is interested.”
“I've notified the Throne.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“For a little courtesy,” Kassel snapped,
and swung to Court. “The Throne — our
ruler — has been much interested in your
progress. There’s an interview scheduled.
But It’s to be at your convenience, for I
don't want you to overexert yourself.”

rf^OURT could not suppress a smile. “Am
1 healthy now, Kassel?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, I’m certainly curious. I’m ready
any time.”

“Do you want me to go on my knees to
him, Kassel?” Barlen said impatiently.
“My car’s outside."

“I want nothing except a little considera-
tion,” the doctor mumbled. “National
emergency or not, medicine still has its
rights.”

“Come on, Court,” Barlen said. “If you’re
ready."

Clutching his dog-tags, Court followed the
huge Barlen through the doorway, Kassel
at his heels. Down a winding spiral ramp
they went, past walls that shivered and

SWORD OF TOMORROW

K

murmured with sound and color, and
emerged into a porte-cochere where a car
stood — a huge, sleek bath-tub, apparently —
with a padded bench circling its interior.
A simplified control-pedestal rose in the
center, easily reached from any point within
the car. Barlen stepped in, the others follow-
ing. and waved them to seats.

“We fly,” he said, with simple pride. Court
looked at him.

“So did we,” Court said, and the giant
blinked.

“Well.” He touched levers. “You’ll see.”

The car slid out into darkness.

Then there was the odor of green growing
things and cool, fresh night air, and Court
felt the car rising. Without a sound it slanted
up. He sat motionless, staring at the loveli-
ness of the city spread below. It was a city
of rose and pearl.

“What could I expect?” he told himself.
“This is the future. Naturally things are
different. Naturally.”

Valyra, the central city of Lyra, lay
clustered about a low mountain, spreading
down from its slopes into the distant dark-
ness. It glowed with a warm radiance that
outlined the gracious curves of domes and
roadways, and the dreams of a hundred
architects had made the city into a single
unit of beauty. Each curve subtly led the
eye to the central mountain.

There, on the summit, stood a domed
palace, fragile looking and shining.

“Did you have this?” Barlen’s voice held
smug triumph.

“No,” Court said. “Nothing like this.
No.”

His hand tightened on two bits of metal,
for abruptly the elfin city was horrible to
him. He didn’t want perfection. He wanted
craggy, dirty blocks of concrete, granite, brick
and steel, towering above Sixth Avenue. He
wanted to hear the nerve-grinding roar of
, a subway. He wanted to smell of hot-dogs
roasting in an open- front Nedick’s shop.
He wanted to look down at a city that wasn’t
perfectly planned and executed — a place with
the homely name of New York or Pittsburgh
or Denver, where brownstone stood next to
chrome, and where pushcarts stood beside
sleek limousines.

He didn’t want this. It wasn’t fair. He was

i ordinary man. There had been a war,

d he’d been in it But this wasn’t all right,
i wrong that he should have fallen
e sort of mystic sleep in a dungeon
, and wakened after thousands of

pearl — bah! It was a fine set-up

had passed.
■ and pearl

stnifkt »f ike n

18 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

for a hero, maybe, but he wasn't a hero and
he didn’t want te he one.

All that he had seen was fairy-tale stuff.
That covered it He didn’t fit into fairy tales.
This golden-bearded giant, beside him,
probably lived on a steady diet of romance.
But it wasn’t Court’s meat.

He gripped his dog-tags desperately and
shut his eyes, wishing and praying to be
back in the familiar yellow mud of China.
Anywhere, in fact but this cake-icing city
in a time that wasn’t Ethan Court’s time.

“Look out, Barlen!” he heard Kassel say.
"That car’s coming too dose!”

“Fools!” Barlen rumbled. “They’ll hit us.’’

The big man raised a warning shout.

“Grapples! Hold them, Kassel! I’ll protect
Court.”

Mighty arms swept about Court, lifting
him from his seat One glimpse he had of an
air-car sweeping forward Silvery rods, like
tentacles were reaching out and dark faces
were intently watching. Then Barlen sprang
over the side, gripping Court to his barrel
chest, and the two of them went plunging
downward through the emptiness of the
night.

CHAPTER IH
The Blue-Eyed Girl

B Y INSTINCT he reached for the ring of
a rip-cord that wasn’t there. He heard
himself automatically counting. They turned
over slowly as they fell, but Barlen kept his
strong grip on Court. Above them the un-
lighted air-cars were lost against the sky.

Court felt Barlen writhe. The city was
rushing up at them with sickening speed, so
close now that details were visible. But as
Barlen moved, a coruscating shell of color
blotted out vision. Hands of iron seemed to
seize every part of Court. Next came a
wrenching jolt so violent that it threatened
to dislocate his neck. But soon he was float-
ing down slowly through a curtain of light.
Faster now — and faster.

He struck hard, tangled with Barlen, and
the shimmering colors faded and were gone.
The giant jerked him to his feet, and gave
a swift glance around.

“They may follow. In here, quick.”

“But Kassel! What of him?”

“I don’t know. He’s either dead, or a
captive. Hurry!”

They had landed on the rounded dome of
a roof that glowed with pale pink. With Bar-
len guiding him. Court slid down precar-
iously to a ledge and crept along it to a
window that appeared to be made of mother-

of-pearl. Barlen kicked a hole in the oval
pane. With a wary glance at the sky, he
jumped through the gap, pulling Court after
him. They were in a big, empty room
furnished with sybaritic magnificence.

Barlen made for the door. As it slid up-
ward at his approach, a man appeared on
the threshold, wide-eyed and excited. He
was middle-aged and had coal black wooly
hair.

“Who’re you? What does this mean?”
“Acting for the Throne,” Barlen said.
“Where’s your visor?”

“It’s in here. I’ll show you. Come.”

The man scuttled along the corridor, lead-
ing the way. Barlen dragged Court with
him. The visor was simply a blank oval in
the wall. Barlen made signaling gestures
before it. The oval hummed. A pattern of
lines like Persian script appeared.

“Acknowledged,” a toneless voice said.
“Report.”

“Enemy air-car directly overhead.” Bar-
len turned to his inadvertent host. “Where

“Sector Forty, Gamma Three.”

“Forty Gamma Three. Possible spies. Not
Lyrans, I think. Physician Tor Kassel trying
to hold them. Action.”

“Acknowledged and action,” the voice said.
The light faded. Barlen turned away with a
shrug.

“They’ll send up air-cars to investigate,”
he said. “I doubt if they’ll find anything.”
“What about Kassel?” Court asked.

Barlen gestured. “We have enemies, and
they’re ruthless. They were after you. Word
leaked out, I suppose.” He hesitated, then
looked at the wooly-haired man. “Would
you drive us to the palace? Or let us have
one of your servants, friend? It’s for the
Throne.”

“Gladly,” was the answer. “Are you hurt,
Den Barlen?”

“Oh — you know me. No, I’m not hurt. The
“This way.”

“We’ll go by surface,” Barlen explained,
as the tub-like vehicle whisked them through
glowing streets. “It’s safe, I suppose. My
repulsor charge is exhausted, anyway. I’ll
have to get you a tube.”

“What was it?” Court asked.

“Anti-gravity. It’s not too perfect — you
noticed the jolt — and it requires delicate
timing. Don’t push the stud fill you’re two
hundred feet from the ground. If you release
the charge when you’re too high, it won't
last long enough to bring you down slowly.
The mechanisms are bulky. There’s room
for the complete device in an air-car like
this, but in a pocket safety tube, all we can
do is install a short charge. It has to be
renewed after each use.”

SWORD OF

“Who were those men?” Court asked.

^M^HE man at the controls, his face angry,
turned his head.

“They must have been the enemy,” he
said. “Deccans, perhaps. Is that right, Den
Barlen?”

“Maybe,” Barlen said. “I don’t know.
Didn’t get a good look at them."

‘‘Deccans. They have spies everywhere.”

“Well, Deccans or not, they were after
you, Court,” Barlen said. “I’d have pre-
ferred to stay with Kassel and fight, but your
life’s more important.”

“Why?” Court asked.

The giant winked and glanced toward the
driver.

“Here’s the palace. Thanks, friend. You’ve
helped the Throne tonight.”

“And harmed the Deccans, I hope,” the
man said. He brought the car to a stop.

A few guards, not many, were at this door
of the hill-palace. Barlen exchanged a few
words with one of them, and was waved
inside. Court had an impression of immense
spaces and bright colors — then he was in an
elevator that rose swiftly. He stepped out,
with Barlen, into a good-sized room where a
man was awaiting them. Thin, undersized,
with a clever, fox-handsome face, the man
brushed back his red hair nervously with one
hand and smiled at them. Behind him, a
spiral ramp led up to a crystal door high
above them.

“Hello, Barlen,” the red-haired man said.
“Is this Court?”

“It’s Court, yes. I’m sorry, but the Throne’s
waiting.”

“I’ll take him there.”

“Go to the devil, Hardony,” Barlen said.
“Run your sneaking spy-system and let me
handle these matters.”

Hardony's hand slopped moving across
his hair. “It’s my job too, you know.”

“It’s military tactics, not espionage. Come
on, Court.”

From somewhere a woman’s voice spoke
angrily.

“Stop quarreling and send Court up here!
I want to see him. Barlen! Hardony! Send
him alone.”

Both men bowed to the wall high in the
wall. Barlen waved Court forward.

“Follow the ramp,” he said, and grinned.
“Don’t be nervous. There’s nothing to worry
about.”

Court grimaced and turned to the
incline. He walked up the spiral slowly,
conscious that the two men below were
watching him, red-hair and yellow-beard.
So the Throne was a woman. More rose-and-
pearl hokum. Smiling crookedly, Court
touched the white hair at his temples. Well,
he was no Prince Charming.

TOMORROW 19

The Crystal door opened. He stepped
through into a bubble of darkness.

There were dim lights, but they paled
against the spectacle of Valyra spread around
and below. This was, he saw, the highest
point of the palace on its mountain-top, and
it was a room walled and roofed with
material as transparent as glass.

Behind him the door clicked shut.

“I don’t know the rules,” Court said. His
voice was harsh. “Do I bow, or just fall flat
on my face?”

“Your dialect is that of a savage,” a voice
answered. “You act like one, too. Perhaps,
though I am too critical. You have been
asleep for a long time. Wait.”

Slowly a blue glimmer pulsed and grew,
faded to pale rose, and spread out into a cool,
quiet radiance that filled the room. The city,
spread below, lost its colored vividness, and
became ghostly, while the chamber became
distinct.

It was huge, so great that it was spacious
. despite the richness of its furnishings.
Fragile delicacy of sculptures and curious
mobile art-forms contrasted with the massive
solidness of heavy tables. Immense carved
cabinets, and marble railings could be seen.

Yet the room was a unit. There was no
discordant note. Walls and roof were the
transparent glass dome. The floor was
divided into sectors of shifting tints that
faded and wavered and flamed up as Court
watched.

Facing him, a few feet, away, was a girl —
a very beautiful girl — with red-gold hair
and intent blue eyes. She was wearing the
briefest of garments. Its dull silver revealed
the slim perfection of her body. Except for
the richness of her garments, nothing showed
her rank.

She settled herself on a divan. Her gaze
measured him.

“I’ve seen you asleep,” she said. “That was
different. You’re awake now.”

^X)URT stared at her, a dull irritation
rising within him, though he could not
have told why. Slowly her red lips curved
into a smile of curiously gentle sweetness.
The glamour and strangeness were gone.
She was only a girl now, human, approach-
able, not the ruler of an alien civilization.

“My name’s Irelle. I know yours. H you
feel able, we’ll talk.” She smiled. “You
may sit down, if you wish.”

“'Sure.” Court seated himself near her.
“Sure, let’s talk.”

“How do you feel?”

He hesitated. “Healthy enough. But I’m
not comfortable.”

The blue eyes held a touch of pity. “Kassel
told me what to expect. You can’t remember
much, of course. You went to sleep — oh,

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

long ago — and suddenly you find yourself
in a new world. I know. Court. It’s not easy
for you.”

Her sympathy loosened his tongue. “No,
it’s tough. I’ve read stories about such
things, but they were fiction. They couldn’t
happen. Only it has happened. All this
doesn’t really amaze me. We had science in
our day. Anti-gravity’s nothing miraculous.
The miracle is that I haven’t changed.”

That was it, he knew. He didn’t fit. He was
keyed to a different pitch, the world of 1945.
This new era, with its rose-pink cities and
social culture of which he knew nothing,
made him feel helpless and resentful. Long
ago his life had been aimed at the goals and
ideals of the Twentieth Century. Now those
ideals were gone. They were without pur-
pose or meaning. The foundation like those
ancient cities where he had lived, had become
dust.

Here was a new and alien structure, a
civilization grown from a root he bad never
known.

Irelle seemed to understand something of
this. “You will change, of course. I’m no
psychologist, but I can put myself in your
place. You don't even know what you want
now. Isn't that true?”

Court ran his fingers over a cushioned
surface that hummed and vibrated under his
touch. He drew his hand back quickly, meet-
ing Irelle’s eyes.

“Something like that.”

“And you’re suspicious. There’s so much
you don’t comprehend that you resent it.
But that isn’t necessary, Court. Especially
for you.” She watched him. He could sense
the interest in her regard. •

“Am I to be put on exhibit? Or do I
lecture in some university — if there are uni-
versities?” But there must be, he thought,
or there would have been no word for it in
the language. Still, they might be far dif-
ferent from the old Yale or U. S. C.

Irelle touched a mobile object and watched
the plastic curves glide and swing into
motion, till it resembled a dizzying waterfall.
“This. It’s meaningless till it’s moved. Then
it shows its purpose. You, Court — once you
begin moving, with a plan — will be like that.”
“What plan?”

“I wish Tor Kassel were here,” she sighed.
“He knows far more than I of the mysteries
of the mind. Barlen and Hardony are fine
strategists, but the subtleties are beyond
them. Our air-cars couldn’t find your at-
tacker. Barlen’s car was located adrift.
Kassel was gone; I suppose they captured
him. They want information — ”

“Who?”

“Listen,” she said, a new light in her eyes.
‘•This is something you’ll understand easily,
I think. You were a soldier, weren’t you?

Well, there are no soldiers now.”

Court looked at her. “There's no war?”
“Not yet,” Irelle said sombrely. “But it
will come soon. When it comes, we’ll be
helpless. You saw what their spies can do
— the Deccans. They knew, somehow, of
your existence, and they wanted to capture
or destroy you. Barlen saved you from that.
He’ll fight to defend Lyra. But without
weapons, he can’t do much. Nor can
Hardony, though his espinoage corps is well
organized.”

“Without weapons?” Court asked. “Why
haven’t you any weapons?”

“Kassel could have explained it better,”
she said. “Still, I’ll try.” She took a deep
breath. “We cannot make weapons, defen-
sive or offensive. I mean we cannot. Our —
our minds refuse to conceive of such ideas.
We have scientists. One of our- technicians
discovered anti-gravity years ago. But there
is something deep in our minds — our souls —
that locks the door of knowledge. We are
creative, but we cannot create a weapon.”

“I don’t get the idea,” Court said. “Even
1 can see how anti-gravity could be turned
into a mighty good weapon.”

Irelle's lips parted as she leaned forward.
“You were a soldier, Court. But we are
the children of destruction. It is, Kassel said,
a hereditary conditioned reflex. Or some-
thing that grew from a seed in our minds, .
long before our history began, when the
world ended — after your time, and long,
long before mine. There is a legend of a
Tree in a Garden, and the fruit of that tree

Her face darkened.

Court felt a small, horrible chill crawl
down his spine. He sensed now, as never
before, that a dreadful strangeness lay hid-
den behind the loveliness of the rose-pearl
city. The ominous drumbeat of the past,
like iron seas, boomed far underground.

City of enchantmerft — it was builded on
what bloody dust?

“There is a legend,” Irelle said, her voice
a whisper. “God placed man in a garden,
and said. ‘Of the fruit of that tree you shall
not eat.’ But man disobeyed. And there was
war. Then God said, ‘Lest you perish utterly,

I will give you forgetfulness.’

“And He reached into the minds of men,
and, where He touched — something died."

CHAPTER IY
An Offer Is Made

R ealization hit him with shocking

impact Fm in the -future, he thought.
It was one word, familiar enough — some-

SWORD OF TOMORROW 21

thing he had, until now, taken for granted
simply because he had not faced it squarely.
He knew the answer now. A remnant of the
sheltering blue sea had remained. Lyra, the
city Valyra, the air-cars, the alien environ-
ment, he had acoepted, watching the scene
from the viewpoint of a spectator.

‘But now he knew that he wasn’t a spec-
tator. That was the essence of the shock. As
long as he remained outside of this fantastic
circle of living, he was still safe. It wasn’t
quite true. Subconsciously the feeling
remained that he could dismiss this new
world by waking up.

Irelle’s dimly-lighted face, human and
lovely, was near his own. Behind her, the
rippling waterfall of the crystal mobile, had
faded, into a dull glow. Beyond that, the
great sweep of the dome-wall, and the rose-
pearl glow of Valyra, where men and
women lived, reared families, ate and
bathed, shimmered on.

Under his breast-bone was a dry, a painful
.ache. He knew what it was. He wanted to
go home. He wanted to see the cities he had
fought to save, and which he had lived too
long over to see again. No death could have
been completer than this.

But New York was gone. Chicago was
gone. Little lakes in Wisconsin, where fish
leaped in the sunlight, the white ribbons of
highways cleanly revealed in the shafts of
• -Headlights, the movement and turmoil of
hotel lobbies — all had vanished. There had
been an — amputation. Time had cut cleanly.
But men still feel pain in amputated legs.

He thought, I was going back. After the
war, I was going back to the States. My
family was there, my work, my home — things
I worked for and fought for. I needn’t have
worked. Or fought. It’s canceled.

Instead had come a new world. And he
didn’t give a hoot about it, or about its
problems.

Something had died. Well, that was that

“So you’ve told me a legend,” Court said
harshly. “What’s the truth?”

Irelle settled back, an odd look of relief
in her eyes.

“The truth? We don’t know. Our history
goes back to the time when we were nomadic
tribes, and all mankind was wandering over
the face of the earth, without science, strug-
gling just to keep alive. Before that, there
was no history. Men did not think. They
were too busy. And before that, the world
ended. It was a war, I suppose, but such a
war as is inconceivable today. Whole conti-
nents were blasted.”

She gestured. On the floor between them
a picture came into view — a world-map,
spheroid, slowly revolving.

"Do you recognize this, Court?”

But he could trace no familiar contours.
The great land-masses of Africa and the
Americas, of Eurasia and Australia had
vanished. This was a new world.

“We have only the legends now,” she said.
“Tales of colossal demons smashing the world
with hammers of thunder and fire. In the
end, not many men were left alive.”

Even in my day, Court thought, there were
hammers of thunder. What war could have
ended civilization? The Third World War?
or the Fourth or Fifth?

New weapons! Weapons out of hell!

“It was madness,” Irelle said. “It left a
few tribes wandering amid ruin that was
more than ruin. Nothing survived but life.
In that life remained horror and fear. When,
after a long time, science began anew, men
could not build weapons. They were afraid.
Kassel said there was a psychic block in their
minds. Men forget what they do not wish to
remember. The subconscious is very power-
ful. So, when people tried to turn their
science to weapon-making, their minds would
not work in that direction. They could not
do it.”

Court nodded. He had seen soldiers,
shaken with battle -nerves, totally unable to
remember the scenes that had shocked them.
It was a protective device created by the
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22 THRILLING WONDER STOWES

mind. In a world almost completely destroyed
by unimaginable warfare, it might have be-
come a hereditary partial amnesia. Yes, he
could understand more clearly now.

“But if there aren’t any weapons, how do
these Deccans manage?”

WRELLE shook her head gently. “They
* have weapons,” she said. “They were
always a warlike race. They have menaced
us for many years. Now they plan to attack.
We have our own spies, under Hardony.
Listen, Court. We are peaceful people, but
sometimes wars are necessary.”

“Yes,” Court said. “I know that”

“We need weapons to protect ourselves.
But we cannot conceive of those weapons.
We can build them, Kassel said, but our
brains cannot originate the ideas. You
mentioned a weapon that could be adapted
from anti-gravity. Well, never in a thousand
years could we plan such a thing practically.
We want your help for that.”

“An idea man," Court said. “I’m beginning
to get it. But I don't like it”

Irelle let out her breath sharply. “1 know.
You don’t realize die necessity, yet
Nevertheless It exists. Please, will you do
this? Hold your judgment. Look at our
world, and understand it. After a while, Til
ask you again. There will be no pressure
brought to bear on you. All we ask is that
you look at the truth with unbiased eyes.”

Court hesitated. “I — I don’t know. I
didn’t ask for anything like this.”

She stood up, holding out her hand. Court
rose, and the girl led him across the great
room to the transparent wall. Below, the
city swept down the slope, its winding streets
and skyways dissecting the sprawling, glow-
ing masses.

“Valyra is alive,” Irelle said softly. “You’ve
been dead, Court. You don’t want to waken,
do you?”

It was true. He was thinking longingly
of the blue sea that had cradled him for
eons.

She half turned. Some indefinable per-
fume, subtle and sweet as spring, drifted into
his nostrils.

“Have you forgotten life?” she said — and
lifted her face.

He kissed her, hard and savagely at first,
with a fierce resentfulness that refused to
admit that this was more than a gesture.
Yes, he was dead, and dead flesh does not
quicken easily.

But he came back to life with Irelle’s lips
on his own. Not all of him, perhaps. Per-
haps there was a part of Ethan Court that
would never waken, that would always
remain in the blue sea of th£ past.

He drew back at last, shaken. His eyes
were hard. “Was that what you wanted?”

he asked.

Irelle’s gaze met his steadily.

“I do not give my kisses promiscuously,”
she said. “I tried to answer a question for
you. Well, is it answered?”

Ethan Court stared at her. For an instant,
beneath her softness, her warmth, her radiant
beauty, he had detected a hint of steel.
Driven to desperation, she could be hard —
even ruthless and cruel. But Court was not
surprised. She was a queen and queens are
usually arrogant Also, in battle, he had
learned to be cruel and ruthless himself.

He looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe.

I don’t know.”

“I shall never kiss you again,” she said.
“Remember that After all, I am the Throne.
When you decide, I will be told. Meanwhile,
you are free to do as you like.”

“Suppose I say no?” he said brutally.
“And I think I'll say no? Suppose I won’t
show you how to build weapons? Will you
kill me then?”

“If you decide that our position will be
desperate.” She glanced out at the rose-
pearl city below. “No, you will not be killed.

For then I shall know that Kassel never
wakened you from your long sleep. I shall
know that you are dead, Court. That you !
died ages ago, in your old forgotten world.”

As Court went out his shoulder brushed
the mobile and set it whirling in a blinding J
cascade of liquid brilliance.

In the days which followed Court tried
to adjust himself to this new life. He’d - seen
fantasy films, in his own area, and he may
have expected mile-high machines and
sleekly perfected ribbon-roads that carried
gleaming robots on their errands. But the
truth was somewhat different. It had the
difference of reality, which is never per-
fection.

There were machines, but they were not
a mile high, and sometimes they broke down.
Sometimes they smelled of burning plastics '
and haywire lubrication. Court wasn't a
mechanic or a technician. He saw a great
many wheels going around, and he knew that
gadgets of such complexity had not existed
in his own era. Nevertheless, they did not
leave him stunned. They were only gadgets,
after all.

'■VTF, giant Den Barlen sponsored him, and
* Court grew to like the brusque, intolerant
military leader. Barlen had one thought —
unquestioning loyalty. But there were other
traits, a deep sentimentality which Court
found strange. To Barlen, Lyra was some-
thing more than a country. It was a living
entity. Tears would stand in his eyes as he
told some old folk-story of his ancestors.
There was glamour in Lyra, a strange story-
book atmosphere which at times. nuxzW

SWORD OF TOMORROW

a

Court. Certainly there was much to puzzle
him.

It was an agricultural land chiefly, though
there were a dozen large cities beside the
capital of Valyra. There were factories, and
Court inevitably found himself paying at-
tention to such matters as fuel- sources.
Atomie power was unknown, rather to his
surprise. There were extremely effective
liquid and compressed powdered fuels, and
something of special interest to Court was
the device that powered die anti-gravity.

In th? air-cars was a type of specialized
generator, but the parachute rods held a
storage charge — a battery, in effect, though
electricity was not involved. The Lyrans
were able to compress heavy power-charges
in metal mechanisms, the strength limited
only by the bulk of the container.

He found himself looking at Lyra with die
eye of a strategist.

Lyra was not fortified, and would not be
easy to defend. Offense, in the case of Lyra,
would be the best defense. An enemy air-
fleet, equipped with even Twentieth Century
bombs, could reduce the land to ruin in a
short time;

Demolition bomhs could wreck its factories
a ad homes. Fire bombs could scourge its
- farms and fields. It would be a “milk run”—
bombs away, with no opposition.

There were no weapons — none at all.
Dozens of times Court saw places ideal for
anti-aircraft emplacements, for camouflaged
landing fields, for rocket-cradles. But the
great factories turned out the artifacts of
peace, ploughshares instead of swords. Under
other circumstances it would have been close
to a Utopian system. No, through Lyra,
rustled whispers of threat and danger, of
Deccan spies searching for weaknesses, of
enemies moving implacably closer.

There were a few weapons, of course, but
they were primitive, swords and staves, and
the snake -hi 1 ted daggers used by Hardony’s
espionage corps, which served both for
defence and as a means of identification. In
bit own time that particular symbol — the
Aesculapian serpents twined about a staff
—had meant healing, but now its purpose
was surgical only. Hardony’s men were well-
trained, Court discovered. They covered
Lyra in a network, careless of their own lives,
and were fanatically loyal to the Throne.
But he thought that they were not too fond
of Hardony himself.

Barlen did not like the red-haired
espionage chief.

“I don’t trust him,” he told Court.
“Hardony pretends to believe in nothing.
He’s cynical and he's a cruel brute. Striking
in the dark with a dagger is his style.”

Barlen grinned savagely through his yellow
board. Yes, Pa«kn bated Hardony!

CHAPTER V
Deccan Enemies

■WIRING the days which followed, Court
grew to believe Barlen was prejudiced
about Hardony. Court began to see a good
deal of the spy chief and, although Hardony
was cynical. Court found he was refreshingly
free from hypocrisy. Often Court had
chances to have long talks with the red
headed man, for Barlen’s duties frequently
called him away. Soon Hardony began to
invite Court to go with him on various
expeditions — sometimes on business for the
Throne.

“You know a city by its dives,” the red-
head said one night, as they Sat in a dim
tavern filled with an almost intolerably heavy
perfume.

The room was low-roofed and enormous,
artificial white perfumed fogs drifting about
in dim veils, and off-beat music humming
from somewhere. The drinks were un-
familiar, but they were intoxicating. Hardony
watched a foppish, silk-clad youth laughing.
He was seated on a nearby dais.

“That man, for example,” Hardony said.
“What do you make of him, Court?”

“He’s nervous,” Court theorized. “He
hasn’t looked at you once since we came in.
He isn’t as drunk as he pretends.”

Hardony nodded. “But he knows who I am.
That girl next to him told him. I don’t know
him, though. He’s a visitor from some other
city, or a Deccan spy. Have you wondered
why Barlen and I spend so much time with

“No,” Court said. “I’m being guarded?”
“Right. If you know that, do you know
why?”

“The Deccans?”

“They tried to capture you once. They’re
not fools. They’ve probably more right to
survive than our race has, if you apply the
law of survival of the fittest. They learned
about you almost as soon as you were
bought here, and naturally they want you —
either to use your knowledge, or to kill you.”
“They sound hloodthirsty,” Court said.
Hardony smoothed back his red hair.
“Necessity. I’d kill you myself, if that was
the only way of saving you from falling into
Deccan hands. But there’d he no animosity
in it — nothing personal. Simply logic.”

Court grinned. “I see your point. How-
ever, I’d be apt to resist.”

“If everybody thought alike, there’d be
less trouble,” Hardony said, sipping a bluish
liquor with streaks of gold curling through
it. “This isn’t a unified nation by any means.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

We’ve got factions. Any large social group
has. So it takes a strong hand to rule.
Luckily the Throne’s hereditary, and people
are automatically loyal to Irelle. That’s
ingrained. But too many of them try to
interpret their own schemes for living.
Many hate me because I know that a strong
espionage force is necessary. You can’t
mould clay with clay. It takes a knife. I’m
the knife.”

“What about Barlen?”

“A dull knife,” Hardony said gently. “If
he didn’t hold a rank equal to my own, he’d
be a useful tool. As it is, his bothersome
military machine comes into conflict with
my corps at every opportunity. Fidelity’s
necessary — my men don’t love me, but they
obey me. And Barlen’s men follow him.
His men hate mine, which doesn’t matter so
long as a strong hand keeps Lyra unified.
If we fell into chaos, the Deccans would
have no trouble in taking over.”

“I’ve seen no signs of chaos,” Court said.
“You wouldn’t. It’s under the surface.
But it’s there.” Hardony grimaced. “Bar-
len’s a romanticist. He sees what he wants to
see. To him, Lyra’s a land of honey and
cream, with soft music and pink babies and
bright flowers everywhere. I know what’s
under that I think you know, too. Human
beings aren’t nice. They’re vermin, with the
instincts and rottenness of vermin. Lyrans
are no better than any other race. Deccans
are vermin too. Do you wonder I’m hated?”
He smiled crookedly.

“Yet you’re doing an efficient job,” Court
said. “I wonder why?”

“So I won’t have to crawl with the rest of
the vermin,” Hardony said, finishing his
drink. “It’s no fun wriggling in the mud.
My legs were built to stand on.”

_ "And to stand on others, maybe?”

■HARDONY gave Court a quick glance.
** “Who’d run the espionage corps if I
didn’t?” the spy chief demanded. “Barlen?
He hasn’t the intelligence. He’d blunder
ahead, and one day the Deccans would be
ready, and Lyra would go down fast This
isn’t a perfect land by any means, but it’s the
best one available. I intend to keep it so,
if I can.” He looked at Court shrewdly.
“You’ve been here several weeks now, and
I suspect you beginning to feel impatient.”
"Impatient for what?”

“Bored, then. Being a spectator isn’t suf-

Court turned his goblet idly between his
palms. He didn’t say anything.

Hardony shrugged. “Let’s go. I’ve an
errand to do tonight. Come along. You’ll
find it interesting.”

“All right.” The heavy perfume that filled
the tavern was drugging; Court was ready to

leave. He followed Hardony, threading his
way among the raised platforms toward the
door. The music hummed faintly in the dim,
cloudy radiance.

Someone cried out sharply. Court glanced
back, searching for the source, and stiffened.
A dais had been overturned, and a heavy,
dark-clad figure was sprinting forward,
shouting.

“Hardony!” the man yelled. “Watch out!”

He was running toward the platform where
the foppish youth had been sitting. The youth
was on his feet now, in a swirl of rainbow
silks, something blue and glittering in his
hand. He was struggling to release himself
from the girl who clung to him. She was
desperately trying to gain possession of the
weapon. A curtain of rosy fog drifted
between them, half veiling the pair from
Court’s eyes.

It was over very quickly — before Court
could recover from his surprise. The silk-
clad youth wrenched his arm free. A ray of
brilliant, pale light shot out, striking the
girl full on her breast.

She stiffened, head thrown back, mouth a
square of screaming agony.

She dropped — lay motionless.

The running man who had warned
Hardony had almost reached his goal, the
killer. But he was not swift enough. Again
the white ray lanced out, splashing over dun
cloth and brown skim

Momentum carried the victim forward in
a hurtling rush. He crashed against the dais
and toppled, his cry dying out.

Beyond the rosy cloud-veil the figure of
the youth seemed to loom gigantic. He swung
around, eyes blazing, and his glare centered
on Court.

“Ethan Court!” he shouted.

The blue weapon rose.

Court flung himself forward, bending low.
But he knew that he could not hope to reach
his opponent in time.

Over his head a whistling streak raced.
Through the distortion of the mists he saw
something flicker toward the killer and
smash home upon his forehead.

The foppish yoyth dropped without a
sound.

Then came tumult Court, recovering his
balance, saw Hardony nm pnst him, a sub-
sonic whistle at his lips. The espionage chief,
grinning fiercely, caught up the blue weapon
and thrust it into a pocket. He knelt beside
the. unconscious man, beckoning to Court

“What the devil, Hardony! What’s it all
about?”

“I don’t know. Lucky my aim’s accurate.”
Hardony recovered his snake-headed dagger,
drove it into its scabbard, and indicated the
rising welt on the prostrate man’s brow.
“You were right, anyway. Our friend here

iS

SWORD or TOMORROW

wasn’t as drunk as he seemed.”

Hardony hesitated, and then, with a swift
motion, tore open the youth’s tunic at the
throat. He reached up, took a half-filled
glass, and spilled the liquor over the bared
chest. With a scrap of silk he scrubbed at
the smooth skin.

Beneath dissolving pigments the ghost of
a symbol began to show — a cross within a
circle.

A GASP went up from the surrounding
Crowd.

“A Deccan,” someone said.

“That’s the Deccan sign, Court,” Hardony
said quietly. “A spy.” He stood up, frowning.

Uniformed figures were filtering in now,
unobtrusively taking over, summoned by
their chief’s sub-sonic whistle. Hardony
beckoned to one.

“Court, go with this man. I want you in a
safe place.”

‘Tm staying here.”

“Don’t be a fool. I’ll use force if I have to.
You're unprotected against such weapons
as the Deccans seem to have, and this spy
may not have been alone. Go along, now.”
A hand gripped Court’s arm. Unwillingly
he let himself be urged toward the door.
The musky perfume of the tavern gave place
to the crisp freshness of the night air.

Back in the apartment that had been
furnished him, Court began to pace
nervously, longing for a cigarette and grad-
ually growing more restive. There were
guards at the door, he saw. Till now, they
had at least kept out of sight. The hours
dragged past, until Court felt about ready to
explode. At last the door slipped upward.
He whirled, ready to vent his annoyance on
Hardony — but it was the giant Den Barlen
who entered.

His yellow beard was bristling, his olue
eyes were ablaze. Over his shoulder he
snarled an oath at the guards.

“I’ll deal with Hardony myself! Since
when does he deny Den Barlen entrance
anywhere in Lyra?” The big man moved
swiftly to Court, gripped the latter’s
shoulders with hard hands.

“You’re all right? You weren’t injured?”
But Court was in no mood for sympathy.
“I can take care of myself.” he growled,
pulling free. “If you can order those guards
around, tell them to let me out of here."

“No,” Barlen said. “He’s right in that one
thing. But in nothing else. Taking you out —
unguarded — in the dives where anyone could
slip a knife between your ribs — it’s disgrace-
ful! He isn’t capable of protecting you. All
he can do is hatch his rotten, twisted plots.”
“I told you I wasn’t hurt,” Court snapped.
“But you might have been. I came as soon
as I got word. From now on you’re under

my protection, and mine only.”

His eyes dark with suppressed anger, Court
faced the giant. His lips were tight
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “Too
much. I’m used to being a human being.
For three weeks I’ve been carried around
like a baby, showed this and that, treated
like a semi-invalid. Bah! I know how to
feed myself! The next time I see a guard
trailing me, I’m going to knock his teeth
loose.”

That made Barlen pause. His face troubled,
the giant muttered under his breath, un-
easily fumbling at his beard.

“You — well, perhaps you’re right. I can
see your point of view. But it isn't only that,
Court. You’re in a very special position.”
Court grimaced. “I’m an ordinary mug
who overslept. Nothing more.”

“It’s not all,” Barlen said firmly. “You’re
not a super-intelligent person or anything
like that. We’ve got brains of our own in
Lyra. But you’ve got one faculty that’s com-,
pletely missing from the race — the creatively
aggressive spirit. Lyra’s like a machine
that’s fueled and ready to work. Yet she’s
without means of making the spark that'll
activate the fuel. You’re that spark, Court.
Unless the machine begins to move under
its own power — and that soon — it will be
crushed.”

“It will be crushed to powder unless it
explodes first because of internal tension,”
a new voice broke it. Hardony walked into
the room, red hair catching the light, a half-
mocking smile on his face. “Court, you’re
either Lyra’s saviour or its destruction. I’m
not sure which, yet.”

Scarlet mounted to Barlen’s cheeks. “If
there’s trouble, you’re behind it, red fox!
I half suspect you of aiming at Court’s death
yourself.”

Hardony groaned wearily. “Don’t be that
much of a fool, Den Barlen. I could have
killed Court a hundred times before now,
if I'd wanted that. But I don’t. He mu6t
make weapons for us, that’s all.”

“What happened tonight?” Barlen de-
manded. “A Deccan spy in Green Tavern?"

“Yes. He tried to murder Court— to wipe
out the knowledge in his brain before it
could be used. He failed, though. He man-
aged to kill a woman there, and one of my
operatives.”

“What was that weapon he had?” Court
asked.

HRARDONY made a small, wry sound.

“I don’t know. It was turned over to
our technicians to analyze. And it exploded
as they were working on it. One of them is
dead, two seriously wounded. The spy — we
questioned him. But he apparently doesn’t
know the mechanism. He was given it, with

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

rdcrs to kill Ethan Court.”

“And you took Court down to Green
Tavern!”

Hardony shrugged. “It’s showed me one
thing, anyway. We’ll have to move fast.
There’s unrest everywhere. The people
know about Court. Word’s got out. That
filthy Underground Group — they take orders
from the Deccans, and they’re starting dis-
sension. Barlen, your own men would start
a fight with my agents at the least excuse.”
“What is this Underground Group?” Court
asked. “I've heard something about them,
but not much.”

“It’s some sort of secret organization,”
Hardony said. “Traitors and criminals. They
should be stamped out and they will be.”
Abruptly Hardony slipped up his sleeves,
revealing a blood-stained bandage about his
biceps.

“I got this coming here through the
streets. Yes — there’s dissension.”

“Who did it?” Court asked.

“I don’t know. He escaped.”

“It might have been anybody,” Barlen said
unpleasantly. “Anybody who recognized you,
that is.”

The two men looked at each other, bris-
tling. Then Hardony let his sleeve fall back
into place and laughed softly.

“I think it’s time for you to decide, Court.
For we can’t promise you a home indefinite-
ly. If the Deccans don’t invade first, there’ll
probably be civil war, and if not that, some-
body’s apt to kill you for not aiding us when
you've got the knowledge we need.”

Court hesitated. “But the Deccans have
some sort of death-ray. I don’t know any-
thing about weapons of that type.”

Barlen gripped his shoulder. “Bosh! Any
weapons will do. A fair chance is what we
want. We’ll fight ’em with swords if we
have to.”

Court was remembering the girl the Dec-
can spy had killed so ruthlessly. He was
still angry about that.

“The Throne wants to see you,” Hardony
said. “Will you come?”

“Why not?” Court said. For he had made
his decision.

CHAPTER VI
Globe of Colors

K'THAN COURT had no reason to change
** his mind as, with Barlen and Hardony,
he hurried through the night, via air-car,
toward the palace on the mountain. Beneath
him Valyra hummed with music. But under
its beat he could detect an ominous and

growing tension, a discordance that might j
swell into a shattering, cataclymsic fury.
Here was a land strained to the breaking-
point, threatened by invasion, wanting only
weapons.

The Throne — Irelle — was waiting in one of
the great reception halls, an enormous room
crowded with the gaily-clad nobles of Lyra.

A strained anxiety pervaded in the palace,
too. Irelle was talking to an enormously fat
man whose gross body was incongruously
clad in fluttering silks, red, purple, and
green. He looked like a mediaeval jester,
Court thought.

“We need supplies,” the fat man was say-
ing unhappily, his pouting lips scarlet against
the sagging whiteness of his cheeks. “No
supplies. I must have them. The least one
can expect is to live with a minimum of
comfort.”

“That is out of my province,” Irelle said
patiently. “Technical supplies are needed
elsewhere, Farr. You know that."

Farr tugged at a green tassel on his bulg-
ing stomach.

“Surely a few appliances to help keep me
in comfort wouldn’t be missed?”

Barlen clapped his hand on the fat man’s
back. “Comfort, Farr? You’ve got luxuries i
in your castle which would keep most men
busy, although I don’t envy you them. What *
brings you away from your dreams?” His .
voice was mocking.

Farr drew himself up. ' “My pleasures are
my own affair,” he said sharply. “I interfere
with no one else. I ask only to be let alone, I
and to have a few supplies when I need
them.”

"Those supplies are needed elsewhere,”
Irelle said. “You’ve forgotten that there are |
other worlds than your dream-ones. Lyra
is, I think, more important.”

“But I require so little!”

Irelle cut him short. “Barlen, Hardony,
Court— come with me.” She turned, and led
them into a small adjoining chamber.

“WeU?”

Hardony spread his hands. “It’s entirely |
up to Court now. I can do no more. My
men are ready, but have no weapons.”

“My men are equally ready, Barlen said, j

Irelle looked at Court. “I heard what '
happened tonight. It seems to me Fd be 1
justified in resorting to — anything — to save
Lyra. Even torture.” Her blue eyes were
hard now.

Court was silent.

“Listen to me,” she lashed out at him.
“Thus far you have refused me weapons.
You come from the past, from a world that I
destroyed itself by its own vileness, and you
presume to sit in judgment on us. On Lyra!
Are you God, then?” Her voice had become
shrewish. Her face contorted with fury.

SWORD OF

“No,” Court said. “No, I’m not God.”

“Then — what?”

"I’ll help you. There’s nothing else I can
do. I see that now.” His voice was very low.
“The world isn’t ready for peace even yet
I didn’t sleep long enough.”

Barlen’s triumphant oath rattled against
the ceiling. “Good, Court! Good! You were
a soldier once, and you’re still one. With
weapons we’ll have a chance against the
Deecans.”

Hardony’s smile twisted into faint wry-
ness. “It took you long enough,” he said.
“But perhaps that’s a good thing. Lyra’s at
white-hot pitch now, and can be moulded
easily. Once the people know you’re with
us, you — you may be God, after all.”

Court was watching Irelle. Her hard lips
had softened, he saw, and the spark had
gone from her eyes. Once more she looked
like the woman who had kissed him — not
the ruler who coldly threatened torture.

“So you did not die, then,” she said, and
only Court knew what she meant

A half hour later Court walked alone on a
terrace of the palace, .waiting and pondering.
Above him an alien sky was glittering with
cold stars, immutable as eternity itself, com-
pared to the chotic affairs of mankind. Be-
yond the balustrade lay Valyra, a rose-pearl
stain against the night. Behind him the
palace seethed with subdued excitement.

Soon, now, technicians and scientists, long
held in readiness, would be gathered to-
gether.

“Speeches aren’t necessary,” Hardony had
said. "They want to ask you questions. They
want a basis to work on, and there’s no time
to waste. Even a single night lost now
might be disastrous.”

^OURT did not know what to say. How
^ could he describe the world in which he
had lived? It was the little things that he
remembered most clearly, a tree-lined street,
green and cool on a blazing summer day,
kids bicycling along it, an ice-cream wagon
driving slowly along, bell tinkling. He didn’t
want to talk about weapons to the Lyran
scientists. He wanted to tell them of other
things — the things of peace.

It was so futile now. For, it seemed, there
would always be wars to destroy. Was there
no solution, ever? He stared up at the un-
answering stars. Wars there, too, probably.
Hardony was right. Men were vermin.

No, Hardony was not right. For an answer
existed somewhere. Not yet, perhaps. Far
in the dim, unborn days of the future, in a
land and a time not yet come, but it would
come. He would not see it. Even after his
long, long sleep, the cravings of conquest
and death pulsed too strongly in man’s blood.
War had almost destroyed the world, but

TOMORROW 27

men had forgotten that. The sword was being
drawn from its scabbard once more.

This time it would flame across an earth
that lay unprotected against its edge.

“Science,” Court said under his breath,
bitterly. “So it’s got to be used for war
again. And this is the future!” His tone was
heavy with disgust

“War is a folly,” a voice said. An enor-
mously fat figure appeared from the gloom,
waddling forward awkwardly. The gay colors
of Farr’s garments were hidden in the dusk,
but Court could dimly distinguish his gross
face and body.

“War is folly,” Farr repeated. “But I
never argue with folly. The Throne rules,
and let her rule, I say, so long as I’m per-
mitted to live my own life. But I’m not They
won’t let me have the equipment I need for
my happiness.”

Court turned away, but the fat man
dodged in front of him. “Please wait” His
high-pitched voice was thin with anxiety.
“You can do me a great favor. Irelle would
grant you anything, and it isn’t much I
ask. But it means a great deal to me. Don’t
go; listen to me for a moment.”

“Well, what is it?” Court said ungracious-
ly. He was annoyed at the intrusion.

“Surely a man’s entitled to happiness, if he
interferes with no one?” Farr said. “I need a
little more equipment, and they tell me it’s
needed elsewhere. But a few power-sources
and dynars won’t make any difference to
Lyra. You’ll find me a valuable friend.
Court, and I’m asking such a small favor. A
word in Irelle’s ear would serve the pur-
pose.”

“Settle it yourself,” Court growled. He
swung back. “What do you need special
equipment for, anyway?”

“To be happy,” Farr said. “I weave
dreams.”

“What?”

“I weave dreams,” the fat man repeated.
“Science can be .turned to other ends than
war. Years ago I retired to my castle and
made my own worlds. There I can do as I
please. I have certain — sciences.” He

hesitated. “Not that I’m a scientist. I’m an
artist.”

“Yeah?” Court said. “I thought I was one
myself, a long time ago.”

Farr smiled. “Then you can understand,
I’m sure. In beauty and strangeness and —
and new worlds, I forget the ugliness of this
one. Science can give art life. If you could
step into a picture you had painted, all would
be well.”

“If,” Court said.

“But I can,” Farr told him. “I paint with
certain — forces, certain energies that can
mould matter until it’s real, to the artisan’s
eye. And more than that. It isn’t static. It

28 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

grows. It develops from its seeds of color
and designs and sound, as a plant would
grow.”

“Do the technicians know about this?”
Court asked doubtfully.

“Certainly. Some of them worked out the
basic principles for me, as a worker would
build a musical instrument. But I am the
one who plays that instrument.”

Court’s skepticism fought against his
interest. There might be a weapon here, some
possible adaptation.

“How does this set-up work?” Court
asked.

F ARR took a black globe, the size of an
orange, from his garments.

"Man is attracted by art-forms, which are
the materialization of his subconscious self —
his ego. He strives to create his personalized
conception of pure thought. By transmuting
them into color and form — and sound — the
realities possible in this world. Even in your
day, I imagine, men did that.”

“They did,” Court said. “Sometimes they
succeeded pretty welL”

“Only in art is perfection,” Farr said.
“That’s because man can achieve absolute
freedom. He is prisoned in his body and
limited by his five senses. But his mind can
stretch out in the infinity and conceive mira-
cles. If he were not bound by the flesh, if
the worlds his mind created were real — to
him — there would be perfection. The prison
walls would be down. Free mind, in a world
self-conceived and self-realized. Here, now,
is color.” Farr’s hairy finger traced a line
over the black globe, and it became milky
white. A slow whirl of color moved in its
depths, reminiscent of a spiral nebula.

That gave place to pure abstract design,
racing tints that dissolved and grew and
darted out brilliantly as Court stared.

“This is incomplete, of course,” Farr said.
“It’s a small device I carry with me for — for
refreshment. In my castle I have more com-
plete equipment. You will see why I need
material that is refused me — and my need is
more important than the building of a few
more weapons. Here is color, Court— color
that isn’t entirely objective. It is a chame-
leon. It draws shading from your watching
mind.”

Tiny, glittering, fascinating, the miniature
world of glowing rainbows — lived — in Farr’s
palm. Amber and shell-white, sapphire and
angry scarlet, the colors raced. The designs
formed and reformed. And in those colors
was a hint of something utterly alien, yet
familiar.

A curious rhythym, exciting as a Ravel
piece, touched Court’s nerves with its stimu-
lus. Some mobiles, he remembered, had had a
similar fascination to him in his own time.

Now this one was nearly perfection.

Chips and facets of honey-gold spun off.
Rays of ocean-green, peacock-blue blazed
out. Clouds of velvet purple, almost tangible
in their richness, bellowed. Ever the colors
built and formed and danced. Ever the light
and the rhythm moved like life within the
little globe.

The colors died. The sphere went black.

“But now I can show you my real worlds,
Court, of which that was a mere sample,”
Farr’s voice said.

Ceurt looked up, blinking. His eyes
widened with incredulous amazement. Foi
beyond Farr was not the green foliage 6t
the terrace and the rose-pearl vista of Va-
lyra, but the smooth, glass texture of a wall—
fixe wall of a room.

He was no longer in the terrace. His
startled survey told him that. He was in s
room, bare and unfurnished, with a din
glow coming from the low ceiling.

“You are in a dungeon of my castle
Court,” Farr said, smiling. “It has beer,
nearly five hours since you first looked int<
my colored ball. You are a long, long waj
from Valyra now, and not even Hardonj
will suspect fat, foolish Farr erf holding you
a prisoner.”

CHAPTER VII
Sinister Dream World

^‘■’OURT started forward, the muscles of
^ his legs tensing. Farr shook his head.

“You can’t touch me. You’re looking at a
projected image now. In the flesh — and a
great deal of it there is — I’m many floors
above you, in my castle. You, Court, are in a
certain chamber I prepared for myself long
ago.” ,

But Farr’s image, if an image it were,
seemed tangibly real. Court reached out a
tentative arm, and his hand passed through
the fat man’s body without resistance.

“You believe me now?” Farr asked.
“That’s a step in the right direction, any-
way.”

Court glanced behind him, saw a couch,
and dropped upon it, watching Farr out of
narrowed eyes.

“Fm a prisoner, then,” he said. “Are you
a Deccan?”

“Farr a Deccan? Fat old Farr, who does
nothing but sit in his castle and weave
dreams? No, I’m a Lyran by birth. But
by choice I’m a cosmopolitan of many worlds.
None of them is real.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Court’s
gaze examined the walls. There was no sign

SWORD OF

of a door in the smooth, unbroken surfaces.

“Because you interfered with my plans. It
wasn t hard. My air-car was in the palace
terrace, and no one could suspect Farr of
kidnaping. I brought you here without trou-
ble. Since I don’t approve of killing, you’ll
stay here.”

“Your plans,” Court said. “For example?”

Farr’s tiny eyes sparkled craftily. “Did
you believe what I told you on the palace
terrace? Peace at any price? No, Court,
no!” And Farr’s gross body seemed to grow
taller and harder. “Once I thought so, in the
days when I built this castle for my pleasure.
It was enough, then, to live in dreams. But
I saw a shadow darkening over Lyra, and it
darkened even my dreams.”

“Well?”

“If war comes, Lyra must be prepared for
it. I know that. But I also know something
else. The danger is not from Decca. I have
certain sources of knowledge. There is an
enemy within, and if you build weapons,
Court, you will be supplying that enemy.”

“Who?”

“It does not matter, since there will be no
weapons made,” Farr said.

C OURT glanced bitterly at Farr. “Fine.

When the Deccans come over, you’ll be
in a swell fix.”

“They won’t.”

“They have weapons.”

“Do they?” Farr said cryptically. “Well,

I know the value of preparedness, and I
promise you that if Decca ever plans in-
vasion, you’ll be wakened from your sleep
and then you can build your weapons.
There’ll be a need for them then, and they
won’t be turned to the advantage of a traitor
who wants only power and conquest. That,
Court, is why I brought you here. You’re
in a secret cell, far under my castle, and I
have the only key. You will need no food
or water because there is energy in the light
that you see. You will exist for years in that
room, grow old, and die there. But you will
not be unhappy, for you will have worlds to
live in far lovelier than any on Earth.”

Court’s throat felt dry. “I think you’re
insane, Farr,” he said.

The fat man chuckled. “That’s a matter
of viewpoint. A madman’s worlds may be
a great deal more satisfying than one he
did not create himself. You, Court, will have
the opportunity of being a creator.”

“Maybe.”

“You cannot help yourself. The energy
will draw from your mind, and build —
pictures — that will live. Pictures in which
you will live. You’ll be happy. You can
forget Lyra and the Throne and such folly.
They will not matter.”

Til—”

TOMORROW 29

‘ You cannot reach me. I’m doing you a
great favor— letting you share such dreams
as only one man has ever had before. So
farewell.” The figure of Farr grew misty.
The small eyes blinked at Court. “Ah — a
word of advice. Lie on the couch. You’ll
find it softer than the floor.”

Court said something profane. But Farr
was gone; the bare walls threw back the light
starkly. Light that — the fat man had said —
would be food and drink to the prisoner.

The devil with that!

Court stood up. his mouth tight, his fingers
working. He took a step forward, a grin of
sheer fury twisting his face. To get his
hands on Farr’s gross throat would be a
pleasure.

He took a deep breath. There was nothing
to be accomplished by beating his head
against the walls, much as he felt inclined to
do so. He examined those walls, foot by
foot, finding no trace of any jointure. The
door was well-concealed.

He was drowsy!

Panic gripped him. He shook his head
savagely, blinking, fighting down the sleep
that seemed to pour like warm golden sand
from the hidden lights overhead. He began
to walk back and forth, jolting steps that
assumed a definite rhythm.

Back and forth, back and forth. He was
still awake.

He was sitting on the couch, sinking back!

He sprang up, but his legs could not sup-
port him. He was thigh-deep in the warm
sand that shifted and moved slowly around
him, sending him swaying back to a reclin-
ing position on the couch. Blood dripped
from Court’s lips as his teeth clamped down.
The momentary agony rose to a pitch beyond
pain, transmuted into a keen pleasure

He sank back.

Beneath him the solidness of the couch
seemed to give way. The sliding golden
sands buried him. He dropped down, through
a glowing sheen of warm light, while the
surrounding curtains of sand changed into a
pattern of ferns — fronds — frost-crystals —

He was standing in a forest of glass.

The air held a clarity that was like a
picture of Rousseau, and like Rousseau’s
work, too, were the vivid plants that sur-
rounded him. They were ferns, intricate and
patterned, and they were of pure, trans-
parent crystal.

He touched a glittering frond, and it daz-
zled into vibration. And it sang.

■PIZZICATO the high tinkle of crystaline
•"notes rang out. Through the glass forest
the music whispered.

And the forest replied.

In a million tones, pure as light itself, the
forest rustled and shook into blazing move-

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

ment. The sound thrilled through Court’s
flesh. He was a part of the bright jungle,
vibrating with it —

Something touched his feet, warm and
gentle. He looked down. From nowhere a
blue, liquid pool was flowing, rising like the
tears of Niobe about him.

He remembered — the blue sea! The blue
sea that had cradled him during his long
voyage through time!

Once before he had fought free of that
hypnotic azure deep, and now its touch
roused anger and terror within him. The
blue stillness that had once meant peace now
meant the oblivion of death to Court.

He lunged forward — crashed into the
crystal forest.

It was fragile, that white wonderland. The
intricate branches and fronds crackled and
broke as he pushed through them. The
crystal song was a discordance, a tinkling
cry of protest. Beneath his feet gritty stuff
crunched and crackled. A dazzle of whirl-
wind, a glassy, motion spun before his eyes,
pinwheeling into a blinding nebula of light
and roaring sound —

It was gone.

There was gray void.

Something leaped into being in that enor-
mous nothingness. A block, asymmetrical,
oddly angled, bright yellow.

It grew.

It rose into a tower. Ochre protuberances
sprang from it, monstrous growths like fungi.
From its base a strip of amber unrolled like
a carpet, racing to Court’s feet.

Dots of light grew with enormous speed
into rolling spheres, angry orange, shaded
with pale gray. They spun into a goblin
dance, receding, plunging forward, spinning
into inflinite distances and returning.

Cubes and polyhedrons mounted jerkily
like trees.

The amber carpet whipped back, carrying
Court with it. He was drawn into the center
of the devil-dance.

The abstracts toppled toward him, disinte-
grating as they fell. They vanished. Over-
head a scarlet bowl flamed down like a fall-
ing sky, bellowing with enormous thunders.

A world self-conceived and self-realized.

Some distantly untouched part of Court
thought, “I’m visualizing all this. It’s been
recessive in my brain. And Farr’s diabolical
machines are making it real to me.”

It was horribly read, and most horrible was
the exhilaration that rose within Court. He
began to see meaning in the geometrical
dance, began to perceive what lay behind the
symbolism of abstract cubism that was
animate and articulate. A yellow coil rose
into a spiral, shrilling a high-pitched note
that blended with the deep bass of a shape-
less purple blotch that curved and writhed

like an amoeba.

He felt himself moving in time with the—
the things.

Yellow shrieked into red — red sang into
orange — orange murmured into green. The
humming chord that was an emerald triangle
faded into blue —

Into blue that lapped and rose — beckon-
ing — drawing him down into an abyss where
there was no time. . . .

Into the blue sea of eternity!

He struck out at tower and angled globe,
saw them give way and disintegrate beneath
his blows. As they crashed down the black-
ness of infinity folded in from above, eating
up color and sound.

He stood alone in the dark.

A dark that was unbroken — but not quite.
He sensed, rather than saw, a variation of
shades — of faint hints of shapes. . . .

Light came.

W USHLY rich, flaming with tropical color,
an Arabian Nights’ jungle hemmed him
in. A chain of suns was strung like a neck-
lace across a sky more sensuously deep than
any sky on earth. It was brighter than
earthly forests was this jungle.

Flamboyant, it — flaunted. The deep green
of great banners of leaves was veined with
the purple blood of those plants. The flowers *
were cupped blossoms that might have
grown in Solomon’s gardens — brighter than
color!

They were brighter than any artist could
conceive, but they were not paint. Chalices
of shining silver dripped liquid gold that
foamed on the richness of the earth. A seed
dropped here would sprout into pure wonder.

Behind the barred shadows of the trees—
shadows deep and velvety — paced the sleek
forms of tigers, yellow and black. Their eyes
watched Court. Their bodies moved like
sliding water through the blazing, shocking
richness of that mad jungle. ,

A world self-conceived. . . .

He saw the first hint of blue water this
time, and sprang away from it. The bur- j
nished shield of flower dipped down, pour-
ing burning nectar upon him. Lovely femin- j
ine forms, white as snow, bent toward him. I
One had red-gold hair, a face of dazzling *
beauty. It was Irelle!

The bright tigers faded like the phantoms j
they were. All but one. Court was astride it,
feeling the smooth muscles bunch and ripple ,
under his thighs as the great beast crouched
and plunged upward.

Cold winds dried the sweat on his cheeks.
One hand tight in a furry fold of skin, he
flung up the other to guard his eyes from
flames that lashed out at him.

He was riding through fire — riding on a
steed that roared its excitement in deep tones

SWORD OF

of bell-like clarity. Like a huge gong the
tiger's cry rang out, and Court, caught in the
spell of racing motion and power, shouted

On they raced — and the blue sea loomed
ahead.

Court leaped from of the tiger’s back. He
fell through whirling winds that slowed and
were gone, leaving a chill barrenness — an
empty gray world.

A grayness on which a broken line la-
boriously crawled and elongated.

Another line, thin, black, came to meet it.

A few others drifted by.

Nothing, now, but the grayness and the
scatter of lines, meaningless, and yet — Court
watched

The purest essence of linear art, perhaps.
A few lines, symbolic of rhythm and pat-
tern— a pattern basic that artists may seek
all their lives and never find.

- For a long time Court stood motionless,
watching the silent, unchanging scene.

The blue sea welled up again.

In the next vision there was neither color
por sound, nothing that any of Court's five
senses could assimilate. Yet this was the
strangest world of all, and the one that held
Court longest. He knew it, with some curious
inner vision of his mind, and the intoxication
of swooping motion through space and time
held him.

After that came other visions.

Free mind, in a world self-conceived!

In that ultimate vast freedom, unbound by
the fetters of flesh, he sensed at last — some-
thing alive. It drew away from him, but he
followed it..

He was no longer completely human. Yet
the bonds that held him to his own earth were
strong. The psychic forces that could prison
a Lyran forever could not quite render Court
helpless. He was of a different breed from
die Lyrans, of a race that had always fought
for survival, and perhaps, too, after his age-
long sleep, there was a part of his mind that
could not be touched now — something that
the blue sea had never given up.

So, in that incredible space-time beyond
life, he thrust out at the. fleeing life.

He recognized it.

He knew — Farr.

Unimaginable meeting, in a plane of pure
mentality! But the living part of Farr was
there, and Court thrust out at it savagely.

Thrust out — and gripped it. Held it help-
less — and bent it to Ids will.

Though it struggled. Court was the stron-
ger. At last he knew he had succeeded. He
fought free of the inconceivable cosmos that
surrounded him, battled doggedly toward a
warmth and a familiarity he sensed still
existed. He could not fail— not now.

Fast! He must go fast!

TOMORROW 31

Into the vortex he went spinning, down
and down, faster and faster, smaller and
smaller, diminishing from that cosmically
unfettered mind into something small and
limited and familiar. . . .

He dropped into a room with bare walls,
a tiny room where a tiny figure lay, fettered
by its pitifully few senses, leaving beyond
him a greater glory than he had ever known
before and which he would never know
again.

And so Ethan Court awakened!

CHAPTER Vm
Traitor To His Trust

A DOOR was open in the wall, and on its
** threshold Farr stood, a metal key In his
hand, life slowly coming back to his dulled
eyes. He swayed forward and back like a
dummy figure, shaking his head dazedly.

Court stood up, his knees watery. He stag-
gered forward and wrenched the key from
Farr’s fingers, slipping it into his pocket.

That roused the fat man. He made no
attempt to recover the key. Instead he
stared at Court half-blindly.

“By the — by the gods! You’re awake! What
kind of a man are you?”

“I’ve been waiting to get my hand on your
throat, Farr,” Court said. But he made no
move, waiting for strength to return to his
muscles.

Farr touched his forehead gropingly. “I
did not think such a thing was possible.
You — you drew me from my dreams and
made me open the door of your prison!"

“All right,” Court said, “Hypnotism.” He
knew that was not the full answer.

“I don’t understand. What did you do?”

“We were both dreaming,” Court said.
“And we met somewhere. Let it go at that.”

Farr’s fat body seemed to shrink. “I was a
fool. I should not have gone into the dream-
worlds where you could reach me. But how
could I know the power of your will?”

“You couldn’t. Which was lucky for me.
And mighty unlucky for you, Farr.” Court
took a step forward.

“Wait!”

“How long was I unconscious?"

“Not long. A few hours.” Court felt relief.
He had thought his visions had lasted much
longer — days or even weeks. He gripped
Farr’s soft forearm.

“We’re going back to Valyra now, both of
us. You as hostage. If any of your men try
funny business, it’ll be too bad for you.
Valyra needs you now. I’ve got some ideas
about these dream-creators of yours. It’s

.12 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

just possible they could be adapted as weap-

At that Parr tried to wrench free, his eyes
widening.

“No, Court! No! I was foolish. I know
that now. I should have told you the truth
in the beginning, but I felt it would be im-
possible to convince you.”

• “What truth?”

“I have no choice. You must believe me,
Court. You didn’t know my motives for
bringing you here.”

“Well?”

‘T wanted to stop you from building
weapons, so much is true,” Farr said. “But
my reasons weren’t selfish. Pm a leader of
the Underground Group.”

“Peace at any price, eh? Peace while the
Deccans invade and conquer?”

“No! Decca wants peace, for reasons I
ran show you. Decca is not secretly arming.
If it were, I’d have acted in an entirely
different way. I’d have given you every
assistance in weapon-making. But here’s the
truth, Court, something I’ve found out only
after much espionage through my group.
There is a man in Lyra who wants to seize
control of the country, and then make war.
He is the enemy. Decca really has no
weapons. They can't conceive them any
more than we can.”

Court laughed harshly. “The devil they
can’t! Your story’s too thin. A Deccan tried
to kill me with a death-ray of some sort, so
I happen to know you’re lying.”

“Tried to kill you? A death-ray?” Farr
bit at his thick lips. “I’ve never heard of
such a thing. That’s folly. We of the Under-
ground Group are in communication with
Decca, and both the Deccans and our group
are working for peace.”

“You’re easily duped. I think you’re a liar,
Farr.”

B ESPERATION showed on the fat man’s
heavy face. He hesitated. “Yet I’m
forgetting. There’s the treaty.”

“What treaty?”

"Do you remember Tor Kassel?” Farr
asked. “The physician who brought you back
to life?”

“The man who was captured by the Dec-

“Yes. He’s in my castle now. Will you
talk to him, Court? I ask only that.”

“So I can walk into another trap? No,
thanks. We’re leaving right now.”

“But you ought to see him. ”

Court’s fingers sank into Farr’s arm. “Lead
the way. If there’s trouble. I’ll break your
back. I won’t need any weapon for that”
Farr hesitated then let his shoulders sag
hopelessly.

“Very well,” he said. “But you’re making

a mistake.”

“Just see that you don’t make any,” Court
said. “Move!”

He kept his grip on Farr’s arm as the.
other turned toward the door, stepped
through into a tiny room, and pressed a--
stud on the wall. The chamber — an elev-
ator — began to move swiftly upward. Pres-
ently it stopped. A panel opened.

Cool green light beat in on Court. He
saw a shadow looming before him, the -
shadow of a gaunt short man with a gleam-
ing bald head. He swung Farr before him.

“You can break my back if you like, but
now you must talk to Tor Kassel,” Farr said
quietly. “He knows the truth, and you must'
learn that truth from him.”

For a brief interval the tableau held,
Kassel standing in mute inquiry before them,
Court holding Farr in an immovable grip as
a shield.

“All right, I’ll listen,” Court said. “But
talk fast”

A few minutes later the three men were
seated in a comfortable pneumatic chairs with
a photostatic manuscript before them, a ,
manuscript which Kassel had obtained from-
a secret hiding place in the .wall. Court read
it carefully. Then he scowlingly touched a
signature with his finger.

“The Administrator of Decca signed the-
document, eh?” -

“This is a true copy,” Farr said. "The
original was delivered to the Throne weeks
ago.”

“If the Throne got it,” Kassel added. “It
may have been intercepted.”

Court shook his head. “I still don’t under-
stand. If Decca isn't planning invasion, what
does all the excitement mean?”

“Decca never planned invasion,” Farr said.
“We of the Underground Group knew that,
and we were in constant communication with
Decca. It was through us that Decca learned
of your resurrection. You were a menace —
a man who knew how to build weapons. So
Deccan spies were sent to kidnap you before
that danger could be realized. They failed.
They caught Tor Kassel instead,”

“I’ve been in Decca for weeks.” Kassel
said. “I know a great deal now that I never
guessed before. The Deccans are a peaceful
race. They cannot build weapons any more
than we can. Their minds were conditioned
against it, as ours were, long ago. But they
know of the militaristic movement in Lyra,
and they have been trying to stem it This
treaty is the latest move, and it seems a
useless one.”

Court picked up the sheets. “It offers to
open all Deccan laboratories, factories — -all
Decca — to Lyran visitors. Hm-m. 'Peace
possible only through complete trust and
understanding Such lowering of common

33

barriers jylH help to prove to the most
jjpiiwg Lyran that Decca has ns warlike
He whistled between his teeth,
"i is on the level, it changes the setup a
by is Lyra so convinced that Decca’s
'oing to invade?”

Wy ITH a worried gesture, Farr leaned
forward. “There is a man, a ruthless
riSan without ideals or gentleness, a man who
looks on the human race as vermin, created
only to further his desire for power and
conquest, who is responsible. You name him,
Court.”

“Hardony,” Court said. “Yes, it would be
Hardony. Not Den Barlen. He’s honest.”

“I suppose Hardony suppressed this treaty
so the Throne did not see it,” Kassel sug-
gested. “I don’t know what his plans are.
Perhaps he intends to depose Irelle.”

Court stood up. Farr watched him keenly.
“ “Wait,” he said. “Let me tell what else
we have pieced out, Hardony controls the
secret espionage. A spy system is necessary
sometimes. But it is like fire. If it gets too
large, and out of control, it can destroy. Why
is the secret service as large as Den Barlen’s
army?”

“I wonder,” Court said. “Yes, that doesn’t
look well.”

“Preparedness is necessary,” the fat man
went on. “But you forget one thing. Men
of this time cannot build weapons. Why
Have no steps been taken to investigate
-Decca’s intentions? Why has Lyra been
practically cut ofE Jjrom Decca for so long?
The answer’s clear! Hardony has his im-
mense spy system — with ^weapons. He’d
make sure the weapons stayed in his hands.
With it he could conquer a world. In your
day that might have been inconceivable.
But in this age there are no weapons. The
man who brings them into being now has a
certain responsibility. Now look. The gates
of Decca are wide open for any Lyran to
ow»e through. Well, go through them. If
you can find a single weapon in Decca,
you’ll know that I’m lying.”

“There are easier ways of checking up.”
Court was scowling. Farr leaned forward.

“What do you mean?”

“I know a way to find out the truth,”
Court said. “If Hardony’s behind this, if
he’s responsible for the wave of propaganda
that’s scaring Lyra into war, I’m going to get
him.”

“He’s strong,” Farr warned. “His Espio-
nage Corps is powerful.” .

Court’s eyes were narrow and deadly. He
looked at Kassel.

“So the ability to create weapons has been
bred out of the race! That doesn’t help,
Kassel! That doesn’t help a bit and you
know it Nature's stamped out the effect but

not the cause. The source is still here —
hereditary desire for power and conquest.
There’ll always he people like that, maybe.”

Kassel was silent but Farr’s fat face was
suddenly ugly and malignant.

“And men will always rise to fight such
killers,” he growled. “Before you leave here,
Court, answer me. Are you convinced? Do
you intend to build weapons?"

“Not for Hardony,” Court said. “No.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Kassel warned.
“You can’t return to Valyra, into his
power, without taking some precautions. I’ll
go with you. My name carries weight and
perhaps i can assist you.”

“I’m going alone. I don’t trust either
of you, completely. I want an air-car, Farr."

“But that’s reckless.”

“If you want me to trust you, give me an
aii-car.”

The fat man nodded thoughtfully. “All
right, Court. We’ll do it that way, if you
want. I advise you to be careful, that’s all.”
He heaved his great bulk upright. “Follow

Leaving Kassel staring silently after them,
they went through room after room, sparse-
ly furnished, almost ascetic.

“My luxuries exist in dream-worlds,” Farr
murmured.

He pointed through an archway to a small
chamber, the twin of the one far even below,
where a heavy couch stood. Near it, on the
wall, was a plain silver panel with two
levers protruding.

“A movement of my hands and I create
my private worlds, you see,” Farr continued.
“That lever has a timing-mechanism at-
tached, so that I may awake again.” He
smiled half-maliciously. “The other lever
has none, since it controls the guest-chamber
beneath the castle. It’s a place to which 1
could always retire, if I grew too tired of
this world, and sleep forever — until I died —
in my own universes. Here’s the roof, Court,
and here’s the air-car. You know how lo
handle it?”

^OURT nodded, and stepped over the low
^ side and tested the gear. It vibrated into
life against his hand. “Which way is Va-
lyra?’’

“Due north. Good luck. I may see you
sooner than you expect.”

But Court did not hear. The air-car rose
into the night, leaving the figure of Farr, on
the castle roof, below. The dark structure
dwindled. A black wilderness, without land-
marks lay below. Above him, only the stars
blazed.

Court looked at the compass and turned
north, speeding into full acceleration. Wind
cut against his cheeks, cold and chilling. But
it could not cool the dull, smouldering blaze

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

34

that burned within — the question of who
had lied, and who had spoken truth.

The more he considered the possibilities,
the more he was convinced of Hardony’s
duplicity. It would have been easy for the
espionage chief subtly to deluge Lyra with
propaganda aimed at war. Irelle trusted Har-
dony, and, though Barlen did not, Barlen
could do nothing, especially since he actually
did not suspect treason. All this, of course,
was on the assumption that Farr hadn’t lied.
The treaty might have been forged. Tor
Kassel? Court had no real reason to trust
the physician, either.

Yet, remembering Hardony’s cold smile,
his utter, ruthless contempt for mankind,
Court felt a conviction that the red fox was
the enemy to be faced.

But, if so, how could Court convince the
Throne? Would Hardony have left any
evidence to be found? Not likely.

An hour passed, and another. Court was
no nearer a solution when he saw the dim
glow of Valyra on the horizon. It was long
past midnight, but the rose-and-pearl city
still glimmered, with light undarkened. It
was never night in Valyra.

But Valyra, for the most part, slept. Even
Den Barlen was asleep, as Court found when
he reached the officer’s home. The guard
recognized him immediately, and, saluting,
took him into an ante-room where, after a
few moments, Barlen appeared, clad in a
sleeping-robe.

The giant’s yellow beard was tousled.
“Court!” he exclaimed. "Where have you
been? My men have been scouring the city
for you. All the country, for that matter.
Are you all right?”

Court glanced at the guard. “May I talk
to you alone, Barlen?”

“What? Oh — yes, of course. Come in
here.” He pulled Court into his bed-cham-
ber. “What’s wrong?”

Tm not sure,” Court said slowly, choosing
his words. “The only thing I do feel certain
of is that you’re a loyal man, Barlen.”

The giant looked at him queerly.

“What is it?” he asked in a changed voice.
Court drew out the copy of the Deccan
treaty. “Have you ever seen this before?”
Barlen’s brows grew together as he read.
“Signed by the Administrator of Decca. Odd.
No, this is new to me. Where’d you get it?”
“I don’t want to tell you that yet. It came
from someone who’s in close touch with
Decca, though. There are a few other things
to tell you.” Hastily Court sketched his
theories. Barlen listened for a while, but
presently waved an impatient hand.

“Keep talking. I’ll get dressed. This may
need immediate action.”

Court had a momentary cold fear. Suppose
Barlen, not Hardony, was the traitor? Had

he come to the wrong man? '

Barlen’s oath reassured him. “There’ll be
no proof where we can get our hands, gp. it. ]
But it sounds like Hardony. It’s a staggering |
thought, that Decca has no weapons!”

“They have that death-ray.” |

“Well, I don’t know. But all this is quite ]
possible. Court Hardony may be planning
a coup. He could have seen that the Deccan j
treaty never reached the Throne. He’s been
trying to have my organization cut down,
and his own built up. Yes, he could" very - .
easily be planning to start this war, conquer I
Decca — and then assume total rule hhAelf.” . |

^■^HAT might be true. It was a puzzling ]
® problem.

“But how can we find out?” Court asked. I
“How can we be sure?” *

“There’s one way.” Barlen hesitated. "Dec-
ca certainly has sent spies into Lyra, though
I’m not sure, now, that their reasons were*
militaristic. We’ve captured a few. They’re
in Hardony’s headquarters. They’ll prob-
ably be able to tell us something about
Decca’s plans.”

“If they will.”

“They will,” Barlen said grimly. He threw
a cape over his shoulders, buckled on a
sword, and strode to the door. “But we’ll
have to move fast, before Hardony’s notified,
we’re invading his headquarters.” The
giant’s voice bellowed through the halls. By
the time he and Barlen had reached the outer '
portal, a dozen soldiers, armed and ready, ■
were running in their trail. Steel clashing, j
they swung out into the night. '

Air-cars whisked the group across the city,
to a silent dark building that was Hardony’s
stronghold. He was not there now, as Barlen
had anticipated, but the red-uniformed
Espionage Corps agent at the gateway said a
pass would be necessary before he could let
them enter. Hardony could be notified.

“Do you know who I am?” Barlen roared.
The guard bowed. “Den Barlen. J know
you, of course. But I am a Corps man.”

“You serve the Throne,” Barlen snapped.
“So do I! I’ll put a foot of steel though that
shiny uniform if you talk back to me! Where ‘
are the Deccan prisoners?”

“Den Barlen, I can’t permit you to inter-
fere.”

Barlen gestured. Two of his men sprang
forward and seized the Corps man. Another
soldier put a knife to the agent’s throat.

“Will you take us to the prisoners?”
Barlen asked gently.

The agent, it seemed, now was willing.
Massaging his neck, he silently led the way,
with furtive glances at his captors. But two
guards flanked him as he walked.

At a branch of the corridor the Corps man
turned left. One of Barlen’s soldiers pulled

35

SWORD OF TOMORROW

“This isn’t the way, Den Barlen,” the
spldier whispered. “I’ve heard Corps agents
talking. When they speak of taking the left
turn at the entrance, that means they’re
r*-'going to Hardony’s office.”

“All right,” Barlen said. “Kill that man.”
The agent let out a gasping cry. “No!
Don’t!” He thrust out a clawing hand. “Ill
take you to the prisoners! I swear it!”
“Very well.” Barlen nodded. “Keep your
sword-point in his back and, if there’s
1 trouble, push. Now, my friend. The right
. turn, I think you said?”

* Now they walked through the halls in
silence, save for the soft tread of wary feet.
They descended a spiral ramp, turned again
into a narrow corridor and, rounding a
corner, emerged into a well-lighted chamber
where four agents were playing an intricate
card-game. The quartet stared, then sprang
to their feet. But swords were at their necks.
They dropped their hands and stood motion-
less.

“Another trick?" Barlen asked.

“No, no! I did not know these men were
here! I swear it.”

“Barlen!” Court said.

The giant turned his head. “Well?”
i “That man!” He pointed at one of the
agents. “I know him. He’s the Deccan spy
who tried to kill me in the Green Tavern.”

“What? A Deccan?”

“Yeah,” Court said. ‘It’s odd he’s wearing
Hardony’s uniform, isn’t it?”

Barlen’s nostrils dilated. Disdaining to use
his sword, he strode across the room, his
great hand falling on the agent’s shoulder.
The man screamed as Barlen’s muscular
fingers tightened.

“Talk!” Barlen whispered, and death
stared from his eyes. “Speak the truth or
I’ll crush your bones into splinters! Who are
you? Hardony’s man?”

Words spilled out. “Hardony gave me my
orders. I obeyed him. I harmed no one. The
weapon was a sham.”

“The death-ray?” Court moved forward,
his eyes widening. “But you killed two
people with it. I saw them fall.”

“They were in Hardony’s pay,” the man
gasped, writhing. “A — ah — my shoulder.
The — the weapon — it was harmless. It sends
out a ray of light, nothing more. Since then
1 have hidden here, as Hardony com-
manded.”

“A good way to convince me I should build
weapons for Lyra,” Court said. “And it
worked. I saw a supposed Deccan kill ruth-
lessly with a death-ray. Yes, it worked —
almost.”

“We’ll see the prisoners now,” Barlen said.
“The real Deccans.” He was smiling wolfish-
ly. [Turn page]

Produced By The Maker Of The Famous Gillette Blue Blade

3S . THRILLING WONDER STORIES

A quarter of an hour later Barlen’s air-car
again was skimming through the dark, Court
beside the yellow-bearded giant. Beneath
them, Valyra glowed in deceptive calm.

“I’m convinced,” Barlen said. “And I’m
acting. My men are ready for mobilization
and they’ll obey me. I’m ordering the arrest
of Hardony and the imprisonment of his
Corps leaders.”

“The Throne?” Court asked.

“There’s no time even to tell Irelle. Har-
dony will learn of our visit to his < head-
quarters. We must strike before the red fox
can move.” “

CHAPTER IX
Plotters At Bay

S TANDING before the private-beam tele-
visor in Barlen’s home, Court watched
while the orders went out. He was a
spectator how, passive and waiting for —
what? He did not know, but he sensed a
growing tension in the air.

“Find Hardony! Arrest him for treason,
by Den Barlen’s orders, acting for the
Throne. Arrest all Espionage Corps leaders.
Action!”

To Barlen’s well-trained army, in a
thousand branch and district headquarters,
the command was sent out. Barlen touched
a switch, stood up, and nodded briefly at
Court.

“Stay here. I’m going to Hardony’s home.
I’ll get in touch with you.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, stay here where you’ll be safe. You
know things you haven’t told yet, and your
evidence will be important. That means your
life’s important too. Stay here.”

Without waiting for an answer Barlen
strode out, leaving Court alone to chafe and
wonder.

He did not have long to wait. Within ten
minutes the televisor screen leaped into
brilliant color. Irelle’s blue eyes looked into
Court’s.

“Where is Barlen?” she demanded.
“Lpoking for Hardony,” Court said. “He’s
arresting your red-head for treason.”

“So it’s true, then,” Irelle said. “Barlen’s
jealousy has boiled over at last. Well, the
orders are countermanded. You will remain
where you are till my own men come for
you.”

“Barlen’s jealousy?” Court stared at her.
“Hardony’s a traitor. Barlen’s got proof. And
I have too.”

The red-gold crown of hair shook from
side to side. “I don’t believe that. Hardony

is loyal. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Then you’d lose your life. He’s respon-
sible for trying to start a war with Deeca.”
“Oh, you’re mad,” Irelle said. Her hand
reached to break the connection. ‘

Court spoke in time to stop her. “Wait,
Irelle!”

She hesitated. “What?”

“You won’t have to send your men for me.
I’ll come to you. Furthermore I’ll bring with
proof, indisputable proof, that Hardony’s
planned to depose you and take your place."

A shade of doubt came into Irelle’s blue
eyes. “Proof? It cannot exist.”

“Give me five minutes. If I can’t convince
you in that time, then act.”

“I do not wish to wait.”

“I’m coming to the palace,” Court snapped,
and clicked the televisor into darkness. He
went out, finding a guard at the street en-
trance.

“Get me an air-car.”

“You can’t leave, Ethan Court.”

“I’m ordered to report to the Throne,”
Court said. “Tell Hardony when he re-
turns.”

“The Throne — oh!" The man signaled.
Soon an air-car slipped silently toward the
ramp on which they stood.

“Shall I go with you, Ethan Court?”

Without troubling to answer, Court sent
his vehicle lancing up. Against the black sky
he saw the palace on the mountain, and
headed for it. But the seconds seemed to drag
past, lengthening into eternities, before he
reached his destination. Even then, no an-
swer had occurred to him. He had to stop |
Irelle from .countermanding Barlen’g-prders.
But how?

There was no proof, no tangible evidence, i
nothing that Hardony could not explain 1
away. But after Barlen had struck, after his |
men had raided and captured vital places,
there would, Court thought, be evidence
enough. Hardony must not wiggle out of this
trap.

So he hurried to Irelle in the great tower
room under the transparent dome. In the dim
light he saw a silver-gowned figure seated
before a televisor, silent and motionless.

She turned. Her quiet voice dismissed
Court’s guide. As the door swung down.
Irelle rose.

“I’ve waited,” she said. “Your proof?”

^OURT gave her the Deccan treaty. She
^ held it under a shaft of pale light, study-
ing it intently. After a time she looked up.
“Well?”

“Decca never- intended to invade Lyra,”
Court said. “They have no weapons. Har- •
dony built up the whole idea through propa-
ganda."

She looked thoughtfully at the paper.

SWORD OF

“How do I know this treaty is a true
document? That Decca sent it?”

“You didn’t receive it,” Court said. “Har-
dony kept you from seeing it. He wants a
war, so he can get the power he’d never
achieve in peace.” Watching her averted
enigmatic face, Court went on quickly, tell-
ing her what had happened — more than he
had meant to tell.

When he had finished, he knew that he had
failed. Irelle was silent.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

“No. For Decca wants war, Court. So
many things prove that. Only by being
strong, by being able to resist, can Lyra
survive.”

Court groaned.- Had his words meant
nothing to her?

“They have no weapons!”

“So you say.” Her voice was doubtful.
“But even if they have none now, they may
arm themselves later. Two nations can have
peace only if each is strong.”

■ “My race thought that,” Court said grimly.
“It didn’t work. There must be a common
trust and understanding — not the piling up
of weapons on each side till there’s an ex-
plosion.”

She looked at him. “Are you a coward.
Court?”

Presently he answered her. “Maybe.
There are some things I’m afraid of. Shall
T fell you what one of them is?”

■ He took her arm and led her to the curve
of the wall. In the dim light the metal
circlet on her brow sent out faint gleamings.

• There was a cold, hard knot inside of
Court. Looking down at the rosy jewel that
was Valyra, he saw the, fragile bridges and
domes crashing into horror beneath the im-
pact of bombs from the sky.

“There’s your city, Irelle,” he said. “It's
afraid now, but it’s still a good place. It has
good people in it But they can be turned
into people who aren’t — aren’t nice at all,
People who are afraid, and who hate, and
who want to kill because they think that’s
the only salvation for them. Who can be-
come too blindly stupid to realize that there’s
always a rebound. You can burn the cities
of an enemy, but the enemy will come back.
Maybe, after a while, you could ravage
Decca, but unless you killed every Deccan,
Lyra, in the end, would be destroyed too.”

His voice was very low. “Men don’t forget,
belle. It’s been a long time since there was
war on earth, and you don’t know much
about it. You’ve got pretty pink cities and
shiny uniforms and bright swords. Do you
think war is a duel?”

She moved a step away from him. Court’s
hand on her arm tightened.

“They who take the sword, shall perish by
the sword,” he said. “There were races in

TOMORROW 37

my time who learned the penalty. It was my
job to fight those races. I did fight them.
Yes, I was a soldier, Irelle. That’s glamorous,
to you. For all you know about war is shiny
uniforms and shiny swords. You don’t know
what weapons are.”

Something cold and horrible crept into
the room from the darkness where stood
stars that had watched the earth for a long,
long time. She might have been a marble
statue for all the emotions- she showed.

“You don’t see real weapons coming,” he
said. “You can’t dodge them. You hear a
noise, and you drop in the mud, and maybe
you fall on something that was a man, before
it was tom apart, and before it began to rot.
Then you wait. You’re alone. You’re all
alone. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a
. hero or a coward, it doesn’t matter whether
you’re the Throne of Lyra or a scared kid.
For if a bomb's coming, you can’t stop it.
It doesn’t fall only on battlefields. It doesn’t
fall on soldiers alone. Bombs can rain down
on Valyra, Irelle, on civilians, right here!
If a bomb misses you, or just tears a hole in
your body, you can get over that. Afterward
you want to kill the people who drop those
bombs."

tfIJENTLY Court swung Irelle to face him.
™ * “Do you wish me to make bombs for
you to drop on Decca?”

Fear blazed in her eyes, purple now, and
deep. For a second he held her there, and
then, against the backdrop of the rose-pearl
city, they came together. Irelle had said
that she would never kiss Court again, but
she had lied.

She was afraid, and she clung to him, for a
little while. The moment did not last. Court
knew it could not last. But a feeling of
desperate futility rose in him as he heard a
murmur and a sound of approaching foot-
steps, and knew he had not changed her.

Irelle drew away. She gestured. The great
room grew lighter. Through the rising door-
way came two figures, Hardony, red-hair
ruffled, a twisted sneer on his face, and be-
hind him, a sword pointed at Hardony’s back,
Barlen.

The door slipped down. “Stand still, red
fox.” Barlen growled. “Treason to the
Throne needs the Throne’s decision. I think
it will be death.” He nodded toward Irelle.

“‘Have you found evidence?” Court said
quickly.

“I need po evidence to run my swo:d
through this traitor’s throat,” Barlen snarled.
“The Deccans have no weapons, and never
had. Hardony planned to foment a war and
become ruler. Can you deny that, red fox?”

Irelle moved forward to stand beside
Hardony, who turned his head to meet her
calm gaze.

58 THRILLING WOND0S STORIES

“Can you, Hardony?” she asked.

He was grinning. “Why should I, Irelle?”
he asked. “All of it is true, but two things.
I would have served you loyally and I would
have made you ruler of a world.”

“You hear him,” Barlen said. “He’d have
a war!”

Irelle smiled a little. “And you, a soldier,
are a man of peace?”

“I fight for honor, not for gain,” Barlen
said.

Court saw the movement too late. Irelle
had moved a few paces toward Barlen.
Abruptly, without warning, her hand
flickered up from the folds of her gown.
A dagger caught the light’s blaze. It's flash-
ing gleam flicked down. The gleam was
quenched in Barlen’s back.

The giant snapped erect. He swung about
to face Irelle, his countenance twisted with
sudden amazement. The sword rattled from
his grip.

He opened his lips but only blood came out.

He fell face down, and was still.

Irelle caught up the sword and swung it,
hilt-first, into Hardony’s waiting fingers.
As Court sprang forward, the steel point
darted up, poising, waiting, quivering with
thirst.

"It isn’t wise, Court,” Hardony said.

“You killed him!" Court whispered, staring
at Irelle. He still could not believe. He
stood motionless now, frozen in the grip of
surprise.

Irelle took Hardony’s arm and drew him,
step by step, across the room. Court followed,
but the sword still pointed unwaveringly at
his heart.

“Irelle,” he said. “Wait”

“No."

“Why?”

Still guiding Hardony, she smUed with a
queer, sly triumph. “Because I knew, Court.
I knew all along what Hardony intended.
That Deccan treaty — I suppressed that my-
self. Hardony was going to make me ruler
of Decca, and ruler of the world in the end.”

“You fool!” Court said.

“Perhaps. I know only that I must con-
quer. Conquer and rule. Even as a child I
dreamed of power. There were voices in my
blood that whispered to me, that told me
stories of past greatness and future triumphs.
I must rule!” Now a relentless, terrible mad-
ness burned behind the white beauty of
her face.

“Barlen's soldiers are outside that door,
Irelle,” Hardony said.

She glanced at him. “We’re going the
other way, by the terrace.” She opened a
panel in the transparent wall and guided
Hardony through. “It will be wiser to have
my own men around me, when Barlen is
found. Though — ” she nodded at Court “ —

though I will say that you killed him, and !
no one will doubt the Throne’s word. As a |
prisoner, there may be ways of inducing you
to build weapons for us.” ]

fX)URT took another step forward. Irelle
and Hardony were gone in the dark.
With reckless haste he sprang to the gap in
the wall and darted through. He was on a I
terrace. Beyond its wall he could see Valyra
below.

He saw shadows, two forms moving
swiftly, and a larger shape, a bulky ovoid
that looked like an air-car.

There was an air-car cm the terrace! Who,
then, was near?

The shadows seemed to dance before him.

He heard a faint, warning cry, and the run-
ning of hurried feet. As he sprinted for-
ward, he glimpsed a tangle of struggling,
dim forms. A wild exultation sprang into
life within him. There was a chance now to
save a nation!

He saw Hardony drive his sword straight
through the body of someone. He saw the
victim seize ’the sword’s hilt in a ’desperate
grip, keeping the weapon sheathed in his
own body, and resist Hardony, 's furious tug.

Then Court had reached Hardony.

His fist thudded solidly into the red fox’s
face, shattering bone and bringing blood
spurting from riven flesh. Hardony went
staggering back, a thick yell rising in his
throat. He recovered, came back, his eyes
searching for the sword.

Irelle flung herself at Court, clawing,
kicking, her hair a bright flame against the
dark.

Court had no time. He had a job to do.

He slammed a solid blow against her jaw,
and heard her body falL Then he turned on
Hardony.

Hardony tried to dodge, to double back
into the tower room, but Court was too
quick. Court went in relentlessly, no ex-
pression on his face, no light in his steady
eyes.

His hands found their goal — Hardony's
throat.

Fists battered at his face. A leg hooked
itself behind Court’s and tripped him. But
he did not loosen his grip when he felL Has
fingers only closed the tighter.

Sudden panic filled the red fox. He tried to
scream but could not Frantically he at-
tempted to wrench free.

“Court!” he wheezed. “Don’t — don’t!”

“You wanted war,“ Court said. “Well,
this is war.”

Finally Court let the body drop from his
fingers. Already reaction was making him
feel cold and side. He went back to the man
who had been run through by Hardony's
sword.

SWORD OF TOMORROW

But the man was not yet dead. It was Farr.
He looked up at Court, his fat face twisted
in pain.

“Followed you,” he gasped. “Thought —
someway — I could help. Well — there was!”
His chuckling laugh ended in a groan.

Farr’s gross hand reached up and took
Court’s. The tiny eyes were steady and
questioning.

“Court,” he said. “Court Can you save
Lyra?”

“Yes,” Court said. “There will be no
weapons made. I'll tell the truth and the
treaty with Decca will be signed.”

“But — Ire lie — will not sign?”

“There will be peace,” Court said. “I
promise you that.”

Farr nodded contendedly — and died. . . .

The long lashes did not stir on the ivory
cheeks. Court dug his nails into his palms.

“Can you hear me, Irelle?” he said softly.
“You’re going into your own worlds now.
You can dream whatever dreams you want
and they’ll be true. But you won’t be able
to hurt anybody now. You’ll never waken
from your dreams. I must make sure of that.
No, you’ll never waken. Forty years from
now, fifty, maybe, I’ll come down here and
look at you, and you won’t know I’m here.
You’ll grow old and die some time, but you
won't know that. Irelle — my darling!”

K’THAN COURT bent and touched his lips,
" for the last time, to the soft crimson ones
of the sleeping girl.

“I should have killed you, Irelle, J ’ he
whispered. “But this death is easier for you.
I wonder if you ever knew that I loved you?”

Her blue eyes were veiled. Court turned
and went out of the room, staggering as he
walked like a drunken man. He closed the
heavy door and locked it with Farr’s key.
He pressed his forehead against the cool
metal.

There was so much to do now, so much to
do, lest all that had been gained be lost for
want of a man who would speak the truth
freely. But the road ahead was clear, and
peace, not war, lay it its end.

The elevator lifted Court steadily toward
a world of life and promise. Beneath him,
in a bare little room of Farr's castle, Irelle
lay in the sleep from which she would not
wake again. He left her nothing . . . except
dreams!

She lay still and lovely on the couch in
the tiny room beneath Farr’s castle. Her
silver gown had been arranged, and her un-
bound hair, cloudy as spun red gold, draped
the pillow. On her brow the metal circlet
of the Throne took the light and gave it
back in a dull glitter.

Court looked down at her. His throat
hurt.

"I suppose there’ll always be people like
you, Irelle,” he said. “There’s a madness in
your blood. You can’t be convinced. But
you’ve got to be stopped. So Lyra will have
a pew ruler tomorrow. It won’t be Ethan
Court, but it’ll be somebody who wants
peace.” .

UllllllllltMllllllllllllllllIlllllltlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllltlllllllllllllISs

ich to £artli, looting 'Y'ffian —
Ijjou re -S/ctr icL !

AIRD CARLIN was in a raging fury when the psychotherapist de. =
-i livered himself of this edict. E

"What do you mean, star sick?" Carlin flared. "I’ve made the trip to s
jj Algol ten times in the last three months. I’ve spent my leaves in Sun jE
* City with — Nila. Why should I join a bunch of bird-brained tourists E
headed for the other side of the galaxy?’’ E

"You must,” said the psychotherapist. "You’ve been overdoing things. You’ve spent 5
fifty percent of your time for the last eight years in star ships. That’s too much time in E
space for any man. You've got to quit work — forget the new Algol line — and go back E
to our ancestral planet Earth. Where all our race came from. You’ve got to go there and E
stay for a year — or you won’t last six months!” E

Doctor’s orders were doctor’s orders — and so Laird Carlin obeyed them, despite his E
repugnance. And what happens when he travels to Earth is told in FORGOTTEN S
WORLD, by Edmond Hamilton — a brilliant fantastic novel that will hold you spell- 5
hramd Tt’« in nnr next issue! =

— bound. It’s ii

lllllll llllllllllltllllll lllllllllllllllllllr

SPACE TRAP

By BOLTON CROSS

When his space travelers revert to apes and his lovely
fiancee vanishes, Ken Richmond grimly buckles on his ray
gun and goes forth to break up an alarming conspiracy!

CHAPTER i
Space Pocket

I N the controlling of-
fice, Aero - dynamics
deparment, of the
United Nations Govern-
ment Building, Ken Rich-
mond sat watching the an-
tics of a small spaceship
zigzagging down from the
heights. It was night,, and
the floodlights were on. Yet
they did not obliterate the
glare of sparks, firing hap-
hazardly. From the wild curves, the machine
was making, it was obviously being guided
by inexperienced hands.

Ken Richmond was Chief Dispatcher for
the Government. The whole business was
queer because Ken Richmond, in his official
capacity, never permitted inexpert astronauts
to fly Federal machines. Of late he had been
especially watchful of this because of the se-
cret enmity of Reekah Lothar, Martian rep-
resentative who had the adjoining field.

As the space ship finally dropped awkward-
ly on the distant grounds, Ken Richmond
frowned. He turned and snapped on a switch,
getting direct contact with the grounds of the
United Nations.

“Find out what’s wrong with that ship
which just got in,” he ordered. “The pilot
must have cismicosis or something.”

Within ten minutes the answer came — an
excited one.

“Chief, get down here quick! It’s ship
Forty-seven-C, one-man flier. Scientist Ma-
son Hall. He left in it three days ago. Now
he's turned into an ape.”

Ken Richmond let out a yelp. “Turned into
what? ”

“Come and look. It’s incredible.”

Hurrying to the roof, Ken jumped into a
low level glider and pushed the catapult but-
ton. The powerful spring hurled his glider

aloft and a few minutes later he disembarked
on the United Nations space grounds. El-
bowing through a swarming mass of people,
he soon reached a place which already had
been roped off.

He caught the Airport Manager by the arm.

“Well, where is it?”

“This way.” The manager moved to the
open airlock of the ship. Ken’s gray eyes
widened in amazement. There, sprawled in
the leather driving seat was an ape in a
lounge suit. It was playing with the switches,
breathing noisily and baring its fighting
fangs. One of its wrists had been handcuffed
to an upright stanchion.

“It’s Mason Hall himself, all right,” the
Manager said. “Somehow he’s reverted to
an ape- First we padlocked him. Then we
checked up. Those are Hall’s clothes and
Hall’s papers are in the pockets. He’s wear-
ing Hall’s signet ring. It’s the devil!”

“The people are alarmed over this, Mr.
Richmond.” The Manager’s voice was glum.
“When a man sets out for Venus and returns
ina few days, changed into an ape, it’s enough
to cause a panic."

“Shut up and let me think!" Ken snapped.
He gestured. “Keep the cordon around the
ship and calm the people down. I’ll get to the
bottom of this somehow. It’s probably just
another one of Lothar’s plots. He’s a scien-
tist-inventor. you know, and pretty much of
a phony at that He'd like to get the Govern-
ment to use bis new type of space ship. But
I never have thought it was much good.”

As Ken turned away, he overheard a re-
mark of one of the spectators.

"Reekah Loiha: always has said the space-
ways were dangerous without his patented
shield. It looks a« if the Martian was right.”
Ken paused. This was the very type of
propaganda which he didn’t want spread
around. It was Ken’s business, as Govern-
ment Dispatcher, to promote better under-

AN AMAZING COMPLETE NOVELET

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

standing between the people of all the plan-
et*. The scientist of Venus had donated to
Earth some valuable discoveries. Unre-
stricted travel between the planets was of
paramount importance.

Lothar was not only trying to promote his
own space ship. He was after Ken’s job, too.

Now Ken watched with worried eyes as
dozens of potential travelers lost all interest
in going to Venus and began to file out
through the gates of the field toward their
various homes. Soon there wouldn’t be a
space ship leaving and Ken’s record would be
ruined. That was what Lothar wanted If
Ken Richmond lost his job, Lothar would be
able to pull sortie strings and have himself
appointed in Ken’s place. Then it would be
only a matter of time when the 'space ship
of the Lothar design would be adopted and
become the standard type of conveyance.

“Is Lothar going to gloat over this!” he
muttered. “He’s been itching for a chance to
ruin me."

Furious at this mysterious development he
hurried back to his office. Here he found the
lanky, habitually placid Cliff Bomont wait-
ing for him. BomOnt was a physicist, the
scientific end of the Federal Department.
Right now he was stroking his big forehead
in a troubled manner.

“What's this nonsense about a gorilla?” he
demanded. “Is it a new trick hatched by
Lothar and his mob?”

“No, it’s the truth,” Ken answered. He told
what had occurred Cliff was silent for a
while.

“Sounds crazy to me,” he said finally.
“Space is tested, proven and tried. Super-
ficially it resembles atavism — such as used
to happen before they made the Kresler
Chart of Space. But not today. Why, space
is perfectly safe now. Are you seriously try-
ing to tell me that that ape is really Mason
Hall? If so, how could he drive a space ship
back to Earth?”

Perplexed, Ken rubbed his dark head.
“How the devil can I explain it? The ship
was flying badly when it came down. It
would, wiUi that thing at die controls. Look
here, Cliff!” He thumped the desk. “There’s
an atavistic radiation at work somewhere at
some point and our Space Lane must go right
through it. Mason Hall got the works, ata-
vized, and came back with what intelligence
he had left. That’s the only explanation.
We’ve got to locate the fault quick. Hop to
the observatory and see what you can find
out.”

“Okay. Mebbe I’d better.”

Cliff hurried out. Ken turned to the win-
dow and scanned the starry sky. Nothing
wrong up there, so far as he could see.
Throwing a scare into his connection of regu-
lar travelers would undermine fifteen years

of grueling work and force him to resign
from his Government post. That was a hor-
rible thought. Reekah Lothar wanted the
appointment so badly his tongue was hanging
out. Not for the salary either. He already
was a wealthy man.

A signal buzzed. Ken switched on and
waited.

“Private report from Serviceman Adams,"
intoned a voice.

“Sure — put him on!” Moodily Ken watched
the visiplate. Presently it pictured file big.
good-humored reckless face of “Flip” Adams,
Sie ace of the Interplanetary Secret Service.

“Hi-ya, space bug!" he boomed- “Say,
while working for the I.S.S., I learned a titbit
which may interest you. Did you know Ree-
kah Lothar is erecting a space ground ways
in the Arctic?”

“In the Arctic?" Ken looked his bewilder-
ment. “What for? It’s a cold frozen region
of ice floes. Why should he establish an
experimental space port way up there?”

“Don’t ask me, feller. But I thought it
might interest you.”

“Well — thanks,” Ken said.

“Odd looking field,” Adanjs went on. “Lo-
thar 's got a huge metal plate on floats, all
lighted up in the Arctic night. There’s a di-
rectional guide tower and everything.”

Ken shrugged. “Lothar pulls so many
tricks he gets me dizzy at times. Thanks a
lot, Flip.”

'■’HE visiplate darkened. As Ken turned
® away, the door opened to admit a depu-
tation of men and women. They came surg-
ing in. He recognized most of them — wealthy
people, mostly, with interplanetary interests.

A man with a red face seemed to be the
spokesman.

“Mr. Richmond, what’s wrong with the
Government route?” he demanded. “It’s
against the law for us not to use the direc-
tional beam because of those dangerous me-
teors, and yet that gorilla business looks
mighty bad, too.”

“Forget it.” Ken forced, a smile. “Acci-
dents do occur, now and again. Why should
you get panicky over a solitary case of ata-
vism? The route is quite safe.”

“You’re sure?”

Ken didn’t even hesitate. “Definitely! The
Assignment Office will detail ships for you
right away. Thanks for your confidence,
folks."

Talking excitedly, the people trailed out.
One young woman was left behind — a slender
blonde of perhaps twenty-five.

“Betty!” Ken exclaimed in delight, hurry-
ing around the desk. “I never noticed you
among that mob.”

“I wasn’t among it. I came in after them.”
The girl’s face was serious. “What’s the truth,

43

SPACE TRAP

Ken? You wouldn’t try and fool your future
wife, would you?”

"Never!” He caught her hands ardently.
“You’re intending to take a trip too, then?”
He could not conceal his uneasiness.

"I must” She shrugged. “Mother and Dad
are in Hotlands City, Venus. Mother’s con-
tracted hotlands fever and Dad sent for me.”
She betrayed anxiety. “Ken, you’re not sure
about the route. You’re worried. You lied
to those people.”

“Yes — a little bit” Ken nodded. “What
else could I do? A case such as Mason Hall’s
will never happen again, and I don’t dare
take time to investigate, because, under Reg-
ulations, a certain number of ships must leave
every day or I’ll be up on serious charges.
If I lose my job, remember, our marriage is
off, and we’ve waited so long for it, Betty
dear. If I wasn’t so certain there was no
actual danger, I’d never have let the ships go.
Lothar’s just trying to scare all travelers
away.”

The girl smiled. “Yes, probably you did
right. I guess my fears yere silly. Anyway,
I’ve got to start for Venus at once.”

“Single-seater? Sure you don’t want a
pilot?”

“No. I’ll use one of those spiffy triple-
ejector buses.”

Ken pressed a desk button. “Reserve a
B-Twenty and equip!” He switched off and
glanced at the girl again.

“Listen, Bet,” he said. “While in space
keep your eyes peeled and be prudent If
there’s any hint of something atavistic, turn
around and return immediately. Throw on
the repeller shields. Lothar says they’re in-
ferior to his, but nevertheless no atavism
rays can penetrate them. If you sense any-
thing strange, don’t wait. Come back.”

“Correct.” She smiled, but her gray eyes
were grave. “I’ll radio if anything happens.
Wavelength thirty-Jo.”

Ken kissed her gently, watched her hurry
out. Again uneasiness stirred him. He in-
wardly cursed the duties which kept him
chained to his post. He didn’t dare leave now.
The unscrupulous Lothar would ruin him.

In the next hour Ken found the faith of
the people in his word was gratifying. He
watched spaceship after spaceship hurtle up
from the grounds and climb to the Govern-
ment space beam. Soon he saw Betty Drans-
field’s B/20 follow and vanish amid the stars.

He switched on his space-radio to Betty’s
frequency.

“I hope to heaven I was right,” he mut-
tered, then he looked up as Cliff Bomont
came, his big forehead dark with worry.

“You’d better give a stand-by order to the
groundsmen, Ken,” he said. “There’s big
trouble blocking the beam.”

Ken jumped up in dismay. “But I’ve let a

lot of ships go!”

“You’ve what?” Cliff Bomont’s calm de-
serted him. He caught Ken’s arm tightly.
“Listen, Ken — that overconfidence of yours
has gummed things up for fair. Right in our
beam — about one-hundred-twenty-thousand
miles from Earth — is a space-pocket. The
reflectors show it as a black smudge. Similar
‘sink holes’ are the enigma of science. The
Black Hole of Cygnus is one of them. Just
pits of — of nothing.”

■BROWNING, Ken stared at Cliff.

* “How does that make Mason Hall a
gorilla?” he snapped.

“Plenty of ways. In such pockets anything
can happen. As a rule those Holes form the
entrance to an unknown universe, so it’s
queer that Mason Hall managed to return at
all. He must have slipped several degrees
backward in Time and become an ape. Ken,
you’ve got to recall all the ships that have
left. Then we can go out and take a look at
this Hole ourselves.”

Ken nodded and gave the order for recall
through the broadcasting system. He looked
again through the window at the stars.

“I can’t understand it, Cliff! A sink-hole
doesn’t just — develop.”

“It can.” Cliff’s main interest was on
physics as usual. “With a grouping of space
radiations in a state of fusion, you get primal
space substance — Eddington figured that out
long ago. And what happens? Space, mat-
ter, radiation, time, light — all such things
cease to be as such. There’s a piece of Noth-
ing left. The whole thing is possible, but it’s
awkward to have it develop right in our space
line. Nor can we steer round it, because of
meteor danger. Even a small one can wreck
a ship.”

“And Lothar wins!” Ken’s eyes flashed.
“He’s certainly got the right deck of cards
this time.”

He broke off as the space-radio came on.
Betty Dransfield’s face was mirrored in the
plate. She looked surprised.

“What’s the idea of the recall order?” she
demanded.

“You’ve got to obey it, Betty!” Ken urged.
“There’s real peril ahead. A sink-hole! You
know what that means.”

“You mean that black spot I can see furthei

“That’s it! Turn back — immediately!”

“Not immediately,” she answered. “First
I’m going to take a look at it. Don’t worry
about me, Ken. I’m not alone. Two other
ships have ignored the recall order and are
flying right beside me. If they can risk it, so
can I. I’ll tell you what I find out.”

“Betty!” Ken insisted. “For heavens sake,
do as I ask!”

Her answer was a solemn wink. Then she

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

cut off. Ken glared wildly at Cliff.

’ “She’s taking an awful chance,” Cliff
sighed. “Radiations from that hole can be
mighty treacherous. There may be a central
magnetic vortex which will drag ships into
it”

“What can we do?” Ken asked desperately.
“We can’t overtake her now. She’s too ob-
stinate to listen.”

“Trust to luck!” Cliff waved his hands.
“Maybe she’ll come through.”

CHAPTER H
Atavism Increases

T HE opening of the office door made both
men turn. A big man came in. He was
big in every way, like an ox. His neck flowed
over the edge of his collar, and his red face
hung in folds. His paws were hairy and
swollen with good food. He was about six
feet, proportionately broad, and massive-
stomached. Across it stretched a solid gold
watch chain with a black jewel dangling from
the center.

“Thought I’d find you in,” he said in a
heavy voice. Then as he took off his hat, the
expanse of head revealed where the intelli-
gence lay. What remained of his gray hair
was clipped to the closeness of plush.

“What’s the idea, Lothar?” Ken demanded.
“You know you’re not welcome here."

A smile twisted the big man’s lips. He fo-
cused his cold blue eyes on Ken’s taut face.

“I’ll overlook your rudeness,” he answered.
“I suppose you are feeling the drag, eh?
The space service is all messed up. Poor
management. Atavism traits. That’s bad.”
He stoed there, slowly twirling the black
jewel on his watchchain. As Cliff Bomont
watched that action, a vague interest began
to kindle his eyes.

“What do you want, Lothar?” Ken de-
manded.

The Martian was calm. “You ought to
know by this time. I’ve been telling you long
enough. I want the Government to adopt
my new space ship. It’s of better design and
has superior shields. They’re safe. No ata-
vism rays would ever get through the safe-
guards of the Lothar Whippets.”

Ken Richmond restrained his irritation.
“That’s bunk, Lothar,” he said. “Your ships
aren't as fast as the present ones we’re using
and they’re much harder to control. They’re
so complicated, too. that they constantly get
out of order. They’d be in the work-shops
half of the time.”

Lothar waved his big paws. “Bah!” he
snarled. “You’re prejudiced. You never

wanted to give my buses a fair trial. The
Government needs a new Dispatcher.”

“It wasn’t my opinion,” Ken answered
steadily. “What you object to was the con-
sidered opinion of Investigating Committee
of Scientists who thoroughly tested your
machines over a period of months under
every possible condition. If you don’t like the
report, talk to them.”

Lothar’s face turned purple. “I won’t stand
for it!” he roared. “You can’t fool me. You’re
the one who’s to blame. The Government
needs a new Dispatcher. You’re in a spot.
The whole city is talking about that black
hole blocking the beam and you’re incompe-
tent to handle the situation. Sink-holes have
a habit of sticking — and the longer this one
sticks, the worse off you’ll be. Why don’t you
resign?”

“You’re wasting your time,” Ken said.
“Just because there’s been a cosmic accident,
doesn’t mean the situation is hopeless. I’ll
use science, astronomy — everything — to crack
this hole. You’d like to liquidate me just as
you liquidated Conroy, Shelton, Ob Thursor
and that Jupiterian researcher, Brak. You’d
like to become Dispatcher yourself because
you think you’d have everything your own
way. But it won’t work, Lothar!”

Lothar’s face twitched. He was about to
speak again when the space-radio came on.
His cold eyes flashed to the plate as Betty
Dransfield’s face mirrored again.

“I’m still traveling, Ken!” she said eagerly.
“That black hole is quite large now. At the
present speed I’ll reach it in about twenty
minutes. Hello! Is that Mr. Lothar there with
you?"

“Right.” Ken spoke coldly. “Keep right on
talking.”

“This Hole is just like a circle,” the girl
resumed. “It’s blacker than space itself —
totally devoid of all signs of light. Inside it
there seems to be just nothing — not a ray, not
a trace of luminous radiation — plain nothing.
There’s something queer about it, somehow.
Reminds me of the blackest tuiyiel ever con-
ceived.”

“Betty, for the love of Pete come back!”
Ken cried. “If you go too far towards that
sink-hole you’re a goner. Turn around! You
hear me?”

“Not while these other two ships fly with
me,” she answered. “I’m no quitter. Gosh,
I’m beginning to feel something,” she went
on, wonderingly. “Yes! Like cramp! A prick-
ing sensation.”

She stopped speaking and the three men
watched the plate fixedly as an astounded ex-
pression came to her face. She seemed about
to scream, but no sound came forth. Simul-
•taneously the visiplate went blank. The com-
munication had been sheared off clean.

“She’s — she’s gone!” Ken gasped. “Some-

SPACE

thing out of that Hole cut the contact.”

“And you still think you oughtn’t to re-
sign?” Lothar asked dryly.

“You’ve had my answer!” Ken roared,
wheeling on him. “Get out of here, Lothar,
before I kick you through the door.”

W OTHAR shrugged. “You’re welcome to
try. Do that, and I’ll make this town hot-
ter than a grill for you. Whether I do so or
not depends on whether you see reason.”

“I don’t scare easy,” Ken retorted. “Now
beat it!”

The big man hesitated, then released his
hold on his watchchain fob and picked up his
hat. At the door he looked back, spoke slow-
ly-

Richmond, Til break you. No cheap, nar-
row-minded Federal flunkey is going to stop
me. Better think twice.”

Ken watched the door close, then turned
to Cliff Bomont.

“We’re leaving,” he announced in sharp
tones. “We are heading for that Hole right
now. Come on.”

Cliff caught his arm. “Wait a minute, Ken!
Think what you’re doing. If you head into
space, that’s just what Lothar is waiting for.
He’ll see to it that you never come back. He
can spread the tale that you met your death
'.in the sink-hole. Then what? He’ll have your
job in no time. Think man! Think!”

“Right now I don’t give a hang for Lo-
thar.” Ken clenched his fists. “Betty’s in
-deadly danger. She has just been scooped
into that blasted Hole.”

“We don’t- know that for certain,” the
physicist insisted. “The stoppage df com-
munication doesn’t prove it. Radiations from
that spacial quirk might have swamped all
radio-waves. You can’t leave, Ken. You’ll
play right into your enemy’s hands. Doubt-
less Lothar came here to goad you into that
very act.”

“What can I do?” Ken’s eyes were glitter-
ing. “Just sit around here and let things
drop to pieces? Let Betty die so that I can
keep an eye on Lothar? For what? I’ll lose
the Service anyway, from the way things are
going.”

“We’ll figure something. At the moment
I’m interested in a closer inspection of that
ape. I don’t see how any man atavized that
far could ever have driven a spaceship. Let’s
take a look.”

The lanky physicist was insistent Together
they took gliders to the space grounds,
crossed the depressingly quiet stretch of tar-
mac. Most of the ships were grounded, un-
wanted. But over on the adjoining grounds
of Lothar, men were testing out the Lothar
“Whippets.”

“Okay,” Ken said briefly to the men guard-
ing the ship. “Let’s have a closer look at that

TRAP 45

ship, boys.”

As he spoke, he was moving towards the
ship with Cliff beside him. At that same mo-
ment with terrific and totally unexpected
violence, the spaceship exploded. Force and
heat rolled across the intervening stretch,
sending the men reeling backwards to crash
into the hard fusilage of the next nearest
spaceship.

That was all Ken remembered. . . .

Ken had a dim idea for a long time after-
wards that he was dreaming. It was an odd
dream, too, shot through with lifelike visions
of silent people in white. The only sounds
were the clink of instruments. Then out of the
half formed patchwork he began to drift back
to realities, became quite rational, all of a
sudden, and realized that Cliff Bomont’s keen
face was watching him earnestly.

“Good!” Bomont said in satisfaction.
“You’ve pulled through it all right. Eh,
Doc?”

“Definitely.” A white-coated medico smiled.
“And remember, Mr. Bomont, not too long.”

"What happened?” Ken muttered, too dizzy
to stir.

“Delayed action time bomb blew the space-
ship to Sits,” Cliff Bomont answered bitterly.
“I escaped with cuts but you got concussion
and three cracked ribs. You’ve been deliri-
ous. But you’ll soon be okay again now.”

Ken breathed more rapidly. “How long
have I been unconscious? What about
Betty?"

“Take it easy,” Cliff insisted. “No excite-
ment You’ve been laid out for four days, and
in that time things have happened— grim
things! , You’d better hear about them
though.” His voice slowed a little. “The
B-Twenty came back along with those other
two ships, only — ”

"Apes were inside?" Ken whispered in
horror.

“You guessed it.” Cliff nodded somberly.

■XEN closed his eyes. "Betty coming back
— that way!”

“A she-ape, dressed complete to her wrist-
watch.”

“I could have saved her,” Ken insisted,
opening his eyes again. “I could have, I tell
you, but for your stopping me.”

“Wait a minute — I’ve more yet. Each of the
ships which returned — the B-Twenty in-
cluded — blew up just after we’d dragged the
apes from inside them. That discounts the
idea that Lothar knew somehow we were
going to examine that first ship and planted-a
bomb ready for us. What I now believe is
that time-bombs were put there to blow the
ships up once they had disgorged their ata-
vized inmates. The first bomb was badly
timed, but the mechanism has been rectified
since. Allows iust interval enough for the

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

ship to land and then— boom! Obviously
done to prevent any thorough investigation
of the ships’ controls.”

Ken lay puzzling. “That’s reasonable.”

“It’s as I said at first,” Cliff went on. “How
could an ape drive a spaceship? Answer is —
it couldn’t! The ships were sent back to
Earth by remote control, with bombs in-
stalled to blow up the works before we could
find out. In other words somebody apparent-
ly is turning that sink-hole to account — is
deliberately atavizing human beings for the
sole purpose of discrediting you. Lothar is in
it some place.”

“But how could any man cash in so quickly
on a cosmic accident?" Ken demanded.

“I don’t know. Yet a man with the scien-
tific ingenuity Lothar has, could do plenty.
By some method or other he can produce
atavism. Or else the sink-hole does it. Any-
way he profits from it by sending ships back
by remote control from some pitate head-
quarters in the void. Owning most of the
spacelanes he could easily do that.”

Weak as he was, Ken Richmond felt his
anger rise.

“If that’s so, I’ve got to get well in a
hurry,” he snapped. “As soon as- I’m able to
move around again, we’ll go out and have a
look at that ‘sink-hole’ ourselves.” He gave
Cliff Bomont a sharp glance. “But first we’ll
have to find some way to take Lothar along
with us. I can’t leave him behind to plot
against us.”

He stopped talking as a genial-faced giant
in flying togs came into view, a bunch of
magazines in his hand.

“Flip Adams!” Ken exclaimed, smiling.
“Well, well! How’s tricks?”

Adams grinned. “Came to ask you the
same thing. “Getting along, eh? Good. Here’s
a few things to read, though I guess you won’t
feel much that way in view of what’s hap-
pening to the route. Thought I’d drbp in to
give you some more news about that Arctic
space ground of Lothar’s. It may help you.”

“Slipped my mind in the rush,” Ken sighed.

“What Arctic space ground?” Cliff de-
manded. “Spill it, Flip.”

The Serviceman told him and Cliff Bomont
frowned thoughtfully.

“Where do you head next?” Ken inquired.

“Well, the chief detailed me to look into
two puzzles. One is concerned with a lot of
queer nursery rhymes that have been space-
broadcast recently. They might be code. I’ve
to track ’em down."

“When did they start?” Ken asked abrupt-
!y-

“About a month or so back. I don’t remem-
ber exactly. The other assignment I’m on is
to trace the whereabouts of one Clinton
Drew, an inventor mixed up in metallurgy
and things. He went to Pluto to do some re-

search work and then mysteriously vanished.
Always some person or other up to a dirty
trick somewhere, I guess.”

“Any suspicions?” Ken asked.

“Only personal ones — not official. Lothar
maybe.” Adams’ big jaw squared. “That
fellow’s got intrigue splashed around in every
part of the System. Some day I’m going to
bump him where it hurts most.” He rose to
his feet. “Weil. I’ll — see you when you’re on
your pins again, Ken. ’By, Cliff.”

He went away with vigorous strides.

CHAPTER III
Into the Black

A FTER Adams had gone, Ken Richmond
turned to Cliff Bomont.

“Flip sure gets himself some queer assign-
ments,” he mused.

“Eh?” The physicist awoke from his ab-
straction. “Oh, sure he does. Yknow, I was
just thinking about Clinton Drew. I recall
that he went to Pluto to look into the extra-
ordinary properties of Polarium-X, an isotope
which forms part of Pluto’s surface. : If we
could discover just exactly what Polarium-X
is we might be half way to solving the mys-
tery of this sink-hole.”

“I heard it has something to do with light-
polarization. " Ken frowned. “Say, Cliff, may-
be that’s it!”

“Yes, it might fit in somewhere,” Cliff Bo-
mont said. “First we get an unusual space
ground at the Arctic, with directional towers
— where all the Earth’s natural power can be
utilized, remember. The space ground may
be a disguise for a real motive, particularly
since the ground itself is illumined, apparent-
ly from beneath. It could be energy in the
metal facing itself. Second,, we get nursery
rhymes which form a code. They could be
applicable to agents in the void — agents of
Lothar. And lastly, an inventor, engaged in
research with Polarium-X, vanishes. What
is there about Polarium-X which necessitates
the liquidation of the discoverer?”

“I’m more interested in getting to that sink-
hole and learning what’s wrong,” Ken said,
struggling to a sitting posture. “I’ve just got
to find out. Then I’m going to avenge Betty
and those others. I’ll dedicate my life to it—
so help me!” He sank back again, exhausted.

“You’ll be here a week at least. Then you’ll
be all right. This is no cosmic accident, Ken.
It’s a deep laid plot.”

“That's why Lothar will have to come along
with us into space.”

“He won’t fall for it,” Cliff Bomont ob-
jected. “He’s sure to refuse, especially if he’s

SPACE TRAP 47

been up to some trickery."

"Then he stands self-confessed as a plot-
ter,” Ken went on grimly. “I’ll get him. I’ll
bluff him by suggesting I mean to resign.”

"No!” Cliff was horrified. “Ken, you
wouldn’t do that?”

Ken smiled. ‘'Not really. I’ll fool him by
offerring to show him the route we’ll take, all
the private signals, everything. He wants to
be Chief Dispatcher so much he’s sure to
agree.”

"I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Cliff Bomont got to his feet “Well, Ken, you
spend your time getting well while I have a
look around. If I can’t find something to pin
on Lothar, Til chase a comet”

By the time two weeks were up Ken was
almost well again and chafing with impa-
tience to be on the move. So he left the
hospital, hurrying back to headquarters.

Here there was little to do. Space travel
had dropped to zero, thanks to the “sink-
hole.” Through the observatory mirrors he
scowled at that dark, sinister eye athwart
the route. Bitterness, resentment, sorrow all
raged through his brain at the thought of the
dreadful fate of the girl he had loved. His
anger at the factions at the back of it in-
creased.

Where was Cliff Bomont? That worried
Ken, too. He had not seen Cliff for some
time. Ken had almost reached the point of
starting a search when the physicist came
into the office, tired and drawn.

“A long chase,” he announced, pouring
himself a drink. “I had to question a lot of
Clinton Drew’s research assistants. Now I
know what Polarium-X is. It’s an isotope
and an absorbent metal. Drew made it syn-
thetically at first and then found that it ex-
isted naturally on Pluto, created there by the
battering effect of ceaseless radiations out of
space.”

“Which signifies?” Ken’s voice was im-
patient.

“Lothar knew about it too,” Cliff went on.
"Records show Lothar went to Pluto, bought
some ground, and established a research
laboratory near Drew. Since then Drew has
never been seen. Stated briefly, Lothar
gained complete control of the entire mineral
output of Polprium-X.”

Ken Richmond nodded approval. “Good
work, Cliff,” he said.

■BOMONT flushed with pleasure at the
praise and finished his drink.

“The idea occurred to me when I watched
Lothar fingering his watchchain that eve-
ning,” the physicist went on. "Did you no-
tice the stone on it? Nothing anywhere to
resemble it. It wasn’t carbon or hard plati-
num dust, the rare black diamond or agate.
It was an unknown jewel Lothar had that

piece of hard mineral-like substance ground
into a jewel by Latham’s, the none too scrup-
ulous jewelery experts downtown. And the
jewel was — and is — Polarium-X. Now do you
get the picture?”

Ken Richmond's face lighted up. He slapped
his hand down on the top of the desk hard.

“Get it?” he cried. “You bet I do. I may
even be a little ahead of you. I noticed that
stone myself. It absorbed every bit of illum-
ination as easily as a sponge soaks up water.
It’s not a far cry from a sink-hole in space
and a jewel that won’t reflect light. Possibly
they are identical!” He stopped suddenly and
stared at his chief physicist. “If the sink-
hole’s a phony, the atavism must be also.”
Cliff Bomont nodded. “Exactly. That’s
what we’ve got to find out.”

“I see something else, too,” Ken cried. “A
metal element that can absorb light, might
possibly absorb other radiations. Such as the
vital ones from the sun, for instance. If that
happened, we might devolve in no time — go
backward in evolution — become apes again.
Why, an hour inside a globe of that stuff
might turn anyone into an amoeba. It’s
fiendish!” Ken Richmond set his firm jaw.
“Yes we must visit that sink-hole and in-
vestigate. And certainly we will take Lothar
along with us. Wait!”

Reaching forward, he pressed the televisor
switch on his desk. Lothar’s ugly, flabby
visage soon appeared on the screen.

“Lothar, I’ve thought things over,” Ken
said. “I’ve decided perhaps you were right
about me resigning. I’m in a corner. There’s
no use fighting you any more.”

Lothar bared his ugly teeth in a ferocious
grin. “You’ll have to sign a statement ac-
cepting responsibility for those people who
were avatized. You sent out those ships, you
know.”

Cliff Bomont uttered a protesting cry but
Ken Richmond silenced him with a gesture.

“All right, Lothar,” Ken said. “Come to
my office. We’ll discuss the details.”

Lothar grimaced. “It’ll be a pleasure.”
Tight-lipped, Ken lifted the switch, cutting
the connection.

Within ten minutes Lothar arrived. As
usual he threw down his hat and began to
finger his watch-fob. Ken watched it, this
time with fascination. Though the sunshine
was full upon it, the gem remained a black
mystery, almost like a hole burned in the
man’s puffy fingers and heavy body. It had a
depthless, fathomless beauty all its own.

Ken caught himself just before suspicion
had time to take root in the big man’s brain.

“I’m taking your offer, Lothar, because
there’s nothing else I can do. It includes
everything, of course.”

“Naturally,” Lothar retorted. “I had your
statement and resignation prepared before I

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

came here. Here it is. Sign it.”

He threw down a sheet of stiff paper on the
desk.

“Not yet,” Ken said. “First, I think you
ought to know just what you are getting.
There are tricks in my job just as there are
in yours.”

Lothar sneered. “Generous of you to tell
me. Why worry over that? Fll have my
engineers find out all that’s necessary.”

“Engineers won’t do,” Ken said steadily.
"It demands an expert scientist like yourself
to appreciate what I want to show you. You’d
better come along the course and see for
yourself." , , ,

Lothar hesitated a moment, then shrugged.
“Okay, if that’s what you want. Fll ’phone
my office.”

He did so, then picked up his hat. Hurry
up,” he snapped.

Inwardly somewhat dubious at this ready
acquiescence, Ken led the way from the office
to the roof gliders with Cliff beside him.

In a few minutes they were inside a three-
passenger spaceship streaking swiftly into
the sky. . ...

The black Hole, formerly blurred by at-
mosphere, was now quite clear. As Betty
Dransfield had said, it looked just like a tun-
nel at the end of the space lane.

Lothar stood in the center of the cabin,
with his massive legs straddled against the
gravity pull, staring ahead.

“I have been checking up on that Hole,”
the Martian inventor said, while Cliff and
Ken exchanged surprised glances. “I can tell
you what it is even though the knowledge
won’t do you much good. It is an ether-warp,
a point where the known universe ends and
leaps the gap to the beginning.”

‘‘Meaning what?” Cliff Bomont asked
sharply.

L OTHAR grinned contemptuously.

“You’re a scientist, Bomont — you ought
to know. Einstein’s theory says that space is
curved. In that case it must at some point
return to its starting point. When that hap-
pens, there is a black nothing which repre-
sents the end of one course and the begin-
ning of another. Naturally, anything inside
that Hole will also shift back to its primal
state. Hence man becomes ape and, if he
stays long enough, amoeba. Later on, he
might change into a pure radiation out of
which he was originally bom. The difficulty
in such a Hole is to find the way out. Pre-
sumably there is a way because some have so
far got back, although devolved.”

“Clever theory,” Ken Richmond observed.
“Only it happens that your theory doesn’t
work this time. Scientifically, your explana-
tion is right — only it does not apply to that
Hole! That Hole is a trick, and Polarium-X

has a good deal to do with it!”

Lothar appeared surprised. “Polarium-X?”

He frowned. Then, apparently understand-
ing, he held up his watchchain jewel. “Oh,
you mean this? Rather good, don’t you
think? Unique for a watchchain. Say, wait
a minute! Are you suggesting that my watch
jewel and that sink-hole are the same thing?”

“What do you think?” Ken asked him.

“You must be crazy,” the inventor said.
“That is a second Cygnus Hole, believe it or
not. And the nearer we get to it the less I
like it”

“We’re going right into it, Lothar,” Ken
Richmond said. Why else do you suppose we
brought you along? All of us are going into
that Hole.”

“But — but you said you only planned to
show me some tricks?”

“There are no tricks," Ken answered, smil-
ing tautly. “You are the only man who uses
tricks. We’re here to examine that Hole. If
it is a phony and you want to avoid the fate
of the others, you’ve got but one chance. Tell
us everything and we’ll turn back. If not,
we go through.”

“Now wait a minute!” Eothar protested.
“I haven’t anything to do with that Hole! I
admit all about Polarium-X. I bought the
secret from Clinton Drew on condition that
he’d cease research work. I’ve an idea for
making light-absorbing spaceships, invisible
to space pirates. But that Hole is the door to
the unknown. Only those who have come out
of it really know what is inside it. You’ve got
to believe that.”

“Did those time bombs get into the space-
ships all by themselves?” Cliff Bomont asked
dryly.

Lothar swung to him. “I don’t know any-
thing about the time bombs. I swear it
Perhaps there is alien life in that Hole. They
could have arranged time-explosives. You’ve
got to turn back! Where’s the sense in tak-
ing this risk?”

Ken shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Lo-
thar, you are either a champion liar, or else
circumstances have got you painted blacker
than you are. Either way we’re going to find
out. Here goes!”

He put on speed and the Martian inventor
stood with popping eyes as the immense maw
of black began to loom nearer. He prattled
again about infinity curves and Einstein, but
Ken Richmond took no notice. He drove at
top speed, only began to slow down when
the black started to grow huge enough to
blot out the stars.

Then came queer sensations, just as Betty
Dransfield had described them — a feeling of
tautness about the skin, a pricking on every
exposed part. Ken felt as if his hair were
standing on end.

“Radiation — of sorts,” Cliff Bomont said.

SPACETRAP 49

Then as he closed a repulsion shield round
the vessel, the effect diminished.

“The more I look at this Hole the dizzier I
get,” Ken muttered. “Seems to be without
proper dimensions — like nothing laid on top
of nothing. No break in it, yet it’s nothing
but a Hole.”

“Look here!” Lothar gripped Ken’s arm
savagely. “Why in blazes don’t you two fools
realize that these sensations are the beginning
of avatism? We’ve go to turn back!”

Suddenly it was too late for his words to
have meaning. Darkness — utter and com-
plete — closed round the ship. In fact it was
more than darkness. It was a solid, crushing
barrier which lay on the eyes like invisible
wadding.

“What the devil?” Ken’s discomfited voice
floated from the abyss.

MME FIDDLED with the switchboard lights,
-*■- but nothing happened. Next he put on
the searchlights, but no light came forth.

Then Cliff mumbled something and there
came the scrape and splutter of a burning
match. But no match flame could be seen!
That it was there, all right, was evidenced
by Cliff’s gasp as die invisible flame scorched
his fingers.

“Have we gone blind, or what,” Ken yelled.
“See if it’s any better with the shield’s off.”

He rammed the switches and- that tingling,
inexplicable tautness of the flesh came back.
But no lights.

“My stars!” whispered Cliff, horrified.

“You fools!” Lothar raved out of the dark.
“You idiotic fools! You’ve flung us into devil
knows what universe!”

“Oh, shut up,” Ken retorted. “We’ll figure
something. I’m going to try and land some-
how.”

“In this?” Cliff gasped.

“Yes. Sense of touch. And Heaven help
us if I miss!”

CHAPTER IV
Intrigue Defeated

jCT BN’S intention was forestalled, however.

With abrupt and overwhelming violence
the ship cannoned into something in the
blackness, rebounded with dizzying force.
All three men recoiled against the padded
walls, then picked themselves up. They real-
ized they had escaped with nothing worse
than bruises.

“Landed somewhere, anyhow,” Ken
breathed. “Are we all here?”

Cliff and Lothar answered in shaky voices.

“If only something would light up,” Ken

muttered desperately. “I don’t understand
this setup at all. Hang on a minute. I’ll see
if there’s air outside.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Cliff shouted. “If
there’s a vacuum out there, the air in here
will be gone in a second.”

“We can’t stop here in the dark,” Ken re-
torted. “We can’t see our gauges. The only
way is to trust to luck.”

He felt his way round the wall to the air-
lock, spun the screws, then moved the door
very gently back until he knew a thin crack
must be present. He waited for the tell-tale
whistle of air sucking out into the void, but
no whistle came.

“That’s queer,” he said, puzzled. “There
must be air outside, too. We’re not in a void,
after all! How do you account for that?”
“It disproves your idea of a space-warp,
Lothar,” Cliff observed. “There couldn’t be
air in a warp. Only explanation is that it’s a
planet A planet of total darkness.”

“But at least we ought to see the stars,”
Ken argued.

“Not necessarily. If this planet emits radia-
tions which absorb light — as we know it does
— we couldn’t see them.”

Ken suddenly realized the significance of
what Cliff had said.

“Lothar!” he yelled. “Lothar, you double-
crossing liar. This is a mass of Polarium-X.
The whole thing ties up. Lothar, where are
you?”

There was no answer from the blackness.
Ken whirled round and felt his way to the
limits of the control room. He finished up
gripping Cliff as they both stood in the air-
lock.

“He’s skipped,” Ken breathed. “Probably
knows this blasted, place as well as he knows
his own home. Just wait until I get my hands
on him!”

“You mean his frightened act was a trick,
too?”

“Sure, it was. He did it deliberately to
make us all the keener to go on. Now he’s
got us here, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
It probably struck him it was an easy way
to get rid of us if we came here. Don’t you
get it, man?” Ken went on urgently. "This is
a monstrous hollow globe of Polarium-X,
specially made. The size doesn’t signify, be-
cause it could easily be assembled in space
piece by piece. It is between Earth and
Moon — and since we know there is a phony
space ground at the Arctic, it’s possible that
field is actually a magnetic device for keeping
this thing steady. Yeah, we’re inside a globe
of Polarium-X all right, and its radiations
are such that it kills light of all types.
Whether it also causes atavism or not, we
can’t tell yet. All we’ve got is a prickling
sensation, but so far no primitive instincts.”
“Seems to me we’ve got to get out of here,”

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

Cliff muttered.

“Sure — but how? We probably entered
easily enough through a prearranged trap
which closed afterwards. Right now we’ve as
much chance of finding the exit as a worm has
of flying. But at least there is air, so that’s
in our favor. The other favor is that if we
can't see in the dark, neither can Lothar, so
he can’t take pot shots at us. Our job is to
find him somehow and screw the truth out of
him. Come on!”

Cautiously they felt their way outside. The
truth of Ken Richmond’s theory was substan-
tiated now as their boots scraped on metallic
ore. They moved slowly, sensing emptiness
ahead of them, aware that the basic mass of
the substance was apparently dense enough
to produce a tolerable Earth-norm gravity.

“If only to goodness there were a light,”
Cliff moaned. “This darkness is so thick it
hurts! Surely there is some sort of light
which will work?”

“Depends. This stuff polarizes all the light
we know apparently. All we can do is —
What’s that?” Ken broke off amazedly.

T HEY both came to a halt, gripping each
others’ arms and staring ahead. Some-
thing was there, floating in the cavernous
gloom, something vaguely luminous. Nor was
it alone for it was presently augmented by
others.

“Looks Hke a ghost,” Cliff muttered. “Since
ghosts don’t exist, it’s just a light of sorts.”
They went on again with infinite care. As
they did so, the mystic apparition revealed
itself as a living figure — a woman. Fair, slim
and beautiful, she was. Nor was she alone.
There were others, perhaps a dozen people
of both sexes, roughly dressed in shirts and
space slacks. Around them were the hazy,
ghostly outlines of a room and furniture. It
was like looking into another dimension.

“Jumping comets!" Ken cried suddenly, as
the woman tymed and wafted -gently by.
“Look! It’s— it’s Betty!”

“What?” Cliff stared harder. Then he
whispered, “You're right! It is she. And
fellow over there is Mason Hall.”

“Betty!” Ken shouted, oblivious to every-
thing else. He raced forward in the dark
towards her, then his cries ended in a thud
and a gasp of pain. Cliff caught up with Ken
to find him faintly visible in the glow from
the mystery area. He was rubbing his fore-
head furiously.

“I ran into something,” he panted, scramb-
ling up. He felt in front of him. “Yes, it’s
glass,” he shouted. “No wonder they didn’t
hear us. Thick glass. Hey!” he yelled, thump-
ing on it. “Hey, open up there!”

The people beyond took no notice. In fact,
they seemed to be watching a distant figure,
which strew clearer. It. was Lothar. He was

holding a ray gun in his hana.

“Ah-ha!” Ken snapped, clutching Cliff’s
arm. “I get the idea now. This is a sheet of
polarizing glass, same as they use on dip-
lamps back home. It’s not as perfect a light-
absorber as Polarium-X and some of the light
gets through. The light itself is probably
phosphorescent in basis, therefore different
to ordinary emitted light. Looks as though
this planet is divided into two parts — one
black and a trap. The other is tenanted.

“Sure, I get it,” Cliff said. “You’re right,
Ken!”

“The fact that Betty and those others are
alive, proves the avaiism was a trick, too,”
Ken went on. “The apes were put there de-
liberately. I’m going through the glass.”

He whipped his ray gun from his belt and
aimed a charge at the barrier. Instantly there
was a monstrous cracking sound as the sear-
ing heat fused it. Another charge and it
opened up, leaving a wide crack.

Immediately light of blinding brilliance
flooded the two men. They went down with
their heads spinning, eyes gripped as if by
white hot pincers. While they were stiu
stunned, with their hands over their eyes,
they were seized and dragged forward.

It was several minutes before they could
see at all. Slowly their eyes became accus-
tomed again to a fairly strong illumination
of chemical origin in ceiling bowls.

The first thing they noticed was that they
were looking into steadily leveled ray pistols.
Lothar held one, and tough looking men with
villainous faces were holding the others.
Space drifters, Ken realized — scum of the
lanes.

He looked around slowly. Cliff and he were
in a large room. A wall of glass apparenty
black, formed one side of it. Its length had
been split from top to bottom where the ray
gun charge had struck it. The prisoners
around him, under threat of the guns, were
all passengers he recognized — those who had
supposedly vanished in the Hole.

“Betty!” he exclaimed thankfully, starting
to move towards her. “Thank Heaven you’re
not dead after all.”

“Stay right where you are, Richmond,”
Lothar commanded. “One step further and
I'll finish you.”

“Seems to me you’ve had plenty of chances
to do that already,” Ken retorted. “What’s
the idea?”

“Believe me, I’m surprised to find you two
men in this room,” Lothar interrupted. “I
figured when I left you in the next compart-
ment that you’d walk over the floor trap that
would have dropped you out into space, there
to die. Evidently you missed it. Fortune fa-
vors fools, you know. Anyway, now that you
are here, it means the end of all these people.
Otherwise they could have lived — at a orice.

SPACE T8AP

I was just deciding on that price,” he added
grimly, waving his gun. “The muzzle of a
ray-pistol can boost the sum amazingly.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Ken demanded.

“I’ll tell you. You guessed right when you
figured that the sink-hole is really Polar-
ium-X. It is a complete sphere of it, the
Earthward side fitted with traps which admit
of entrance and then close again, leaving the
victim in the dark. Usually the force of ar-
rival stuns the traveler. He or she is then
brought in here — the ‘better half’ of the globe.
A living ape is then sent back by remote con-
trol, and a time-bomb fitted to destroy the
evidence.”

“So I figured it out right,” Ken answered.

“Sure.” Lothar’s grin was horrible to see.
“Only it won’t do you any good. I had my
engineers fashion this globe on Pluto once I
had bought the Polarium-X site from Drew.
All they had to do was drag it through the
void to this spot — easy enough in free space.
It was anchored half way between Earth and
Moon gravity, accomplished by a gravity unit
operating from the Earth Arctic, which you
know of — and a gravity unit on the Moon
which you don’t know about. These picked,
trusted men were left here to deal with die
incoming people and arrange the ape returns.
I’ve always worked with space pirates. That’s
how I get all my money. Pretty smart, eh?"

“Pretty low down, too,” Ken retorted,
clenching his fists.

“My main object was to get the pair of you
away from Earth so I could ruin you as Chief
Dispatcher,” Lothar went on. “If the fate of
atavized people did not stir you unduly, then
the apparent death of the girl you loved
might. I sent a message to Miss Dransfield
via my Venusian agents. It purported to come
from her parents. She set out for Venus as I
expected, and I knew that if she too turned
into an apparent ape you’d travel hot-foot
along her self-same course — provided you
were not killed by the time-bomb on Mason
Hall’s ship beforehand. You missed the time-
bomb, went into space — and those two ‘reck-
less’ people who, like Miss Dransfield, ap-
parently wanted to see the Hole at close quar-
ters, were some of my disguised space pirates,
detailed to see that she finished the course."

Lothar shrugged. “So it worked out as I
had planned. You decided to trap me. Had
I given in, I would have had you knocking
around alive. So I pretended to be frightened,
knowing your obstinate natures would do the
rest. It worked — only you didn’t fall through
the floor trap. Instead you blasted your way
in here. As for these folks, it was my idea
to let them return home, as I said, after they’d

paid me a huge ransom. It would have
worked if they hadn’t seen you, here. Now
there can be no ransom. All of you must die
to insure my own safety. A pity, but there it

“Just try it,” Ken snapped. “You daren’t
do it. You’d have the whole of the space
police on your tracks. This floating prison
will be found.”

“No.” Lothar shook his close-cropped head.
“I’ve only to give orders to the Arctic unit
to cut out their power and this globe will drift
Moonwards, there to settle gently on the
lunar magnetizer. That I am going to do.
Once it is there, I shall leave you, depart with
my boys here in the one remaining machine
in the next compartment. There will bC no
way out of the tangle for you as the Moon
is never visited. You will be left with a use-
less radio, without food, and on a world with-
out air. And the Government beam will be
clear of the mystic peril What your fate will .
be is obvious. Since it will be believed you
turned into apes, who is going to look for

Desperate, Ken looked around at the others
as Lothar turned to a radio apparatus and
spoke briefly. He used a short nursery rhyme.
Then bringing his gun butt down on the deli-
cate equipment he smashed it in pieces.

“So Adams had you figured out dead
right,” Cliff said slowly. “Nursery rhymes
for instructions.”

“I am fully aware of the activities of Ser-
viceman Adams,” Lothar said gravely. “Til
deal with him later — fully. Right now, my
friends, you can make yourselves comfort-
able. We have a short journey to the Moon’s
surface, and then — death! But why should I
dwell on that? You can think about it later.”

WAT - HITE-FACED, constantly kept apart
from each other by the gunmen, the
assembled men and women sat down. A sen-
sation of falling crept through all in the globe.
Lothar continued to leer at them, gun in
hand, his attention never relaxing.

Ken and Cliff sat near Betty Dransfield
trying to figure out some way to master the
situation. But there was none. Lothar was
holding all four aces. The hands of a nearby
clock told how quickly time was running out.
Once left on the long disused satellite, all
hope would vanish.

It seemed eternities before, at last, there
came a slight jolt. Lothar cackled in tri-
umph.

“Get the ship ready, boys,” he told his
men. “Call in the boys from the magnet-
house outside, and don’t forget your space-
suits.” He watched them go out, glanced
round the taut-faced assembly. “Air may
escape when the ship leaves,” he said callous-
ly, “so perhaps you won’t have long to wait

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

before the end comes.”

He broke off. Ken, realizing that only one
gun menaced him now, suddenly catapulted
from his chair and hurled himself across the
room. He lashed out with his fist, as the ray
gun’s fire seared across his shoulder. Lo-
thar stumbled backward. Cliff came up and
hit Lothar again. His fist struck the fat man
clean in the jaw and sent Lothar stumbling
against the wall — but he still held onto his
gun.

Before Lothar could raise the weapon, Ken
Richmond sprang after the fat man like a cat.
Wrenching the ray gun from Lothar’s grasp,
Ken knocked him flat. . :

“There!” Ken panted, scaring down at the
dazed man at his feet. “I kne# yotfd rnakjjs'-a:
slip. Smart rascals such #'you always do.
There are plenty of charge! left in this gpn.
If you make a move or hall out to your pals,
I’ll burn you to a crisp.” <>

But Lothar was past resistance. His face •
was pale, covered with sweat. He held up his
fat hands pleadingly. There was no pret&jse
about his terror now. * ■

“Don’t kill me, RichmondJi-he pleaded. “I
give up. I’ll do anything to square matters.
I’ll even promise to-go back to Mars for good.”
“Bah,” said Ken, in disgust, jtpuming him
with his toe. “You’re just a cowardly rat,
after all. I always thought so.” He fljowTied,
thinking of the other ruffians outside, fend the
fight before him. It would be on* lone ray
gun against many.

Cliff Bomont stepped closer and grasped
Ken by the arm. y

“What’s that noise outside?” he muttered.
“Maybe it means we’re going to have some
help with this. You know I told Flip Adams
two days ago that the I.S.S. ought to investi-
gate the Moon. I didn’t mention it before be-
cause I didn’t want to raise up any false
hopes.”

The sounds outside now became more dis-
tinct. They were caused by blasting ray guns.

Ken uttered a wild whoop. “That’s it—
Adams is here with his men!”

Even as Ken spoke, a second voice was
heard.

“You are under arrest, Reid Lothar, for
piracy, conspiracy and murder. Okay, boys.
Take him out and chain him up to those other
prize thugs of his. Go on — move.”

“Hello, Flip,” Ken said, gripping the Ser-
viceman’s arm. “I’m glad to see you. But
where’s your spacesuit? How. come you and
your boys can walk about like this on the
Moon?”

Adams laughed. “We’re not on the Moon,
feller. W T e re on Earth. It’s all quite simple.
I was working on the Lothar case. The au-
thorities ordered the annexation of that illegal
‘space ground’ in the Arctic, and our men
took it over. We soon solved the nursery
rhyme code and made certain that Lothar is
a scientific criminal. So the authorities seized
the Moon as well. It was easily captured.”
“Go on,” Ken urged him.

“We decided to catch Lothar red-handed,”
the Serviceman continued. "His going to the
Hole did the trick. We got his radio order
to pull his Polarium-X globe to. the Moon,
but switched on our magnets and pulled it to
Earth instead. Now Lothar will get life im-
prisonment for his crimes.”

“Nice going,” Ken said.

Adams grinned. “Space travel Will have a
new boss. Ken, the Government has pro-
moted you to the post of General Director in
Supreme Charge. Lothar can remember that,
while he’s doing his life sentence. Also, Cliff
isn’t going to fare badly, either. Where you
go, Cliff goes too, like Mary’s lamb. That Po-
larium-X has vast possibilities- in the hands
of a physicist who had no dishonest com-
plexes.”

Ken chuckled, caught Betty’s arm.

“Hear that, Bets? You’re going to marry
the chief of all inter-planetary communica-
tion — and like it!”

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"The time ol peril i> put," pleeded Merimtrope

THE NEMESIS OF THE
ASTROPEDE

By STANTON A. COBLENTZ

Handsome Merimtrope plans to deluge the world in
blood and betray the lovely High Regent Polydora!

H IS voice rang like a bell through the ties of the Earth and High Regent of the
large ornate audience hall. United World, sat in the Seat of State in

“I ask it in the interest of science! the Hall of All Nations at Plaxa, the world
What harm if I do violate the Ancient Seal capital. *

and pass the Forbidden Portals?” She was a tall, regal-looking woman, with

Polydora, President of the Free Communi- an imperial sweep of brow and features like

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

a Greek goddess. Her rich golden locks,
bound with clasps of lapis lazuli according
to the custom of the day, flowed about a face
in which the sternness of leadership was
tempered at times by a smile of girlish
sweetness. For Polydora, although her ex-
traordinary abilities had thrown her into the
planet’s pivotal position, was not yet thirty.
Now, in the good year 99—2193, Old Reck-
oning — she was not only sought by diplomats
but courted by suitors from the four comers
of the world.

But thus far. according to rOmor, she had
inclined most toward Merimtrope, the young
man who now stood before her, beseeching "a
favor. He was far from unprepossessing,
even as the People of the Later Day went.
He was tall of limb, broad of frame, power-
ful of features, with a jutting chin, strong
high cheekbones, and a flashy manner of
wearing the knee-long color-splashed robes
fashionable for men and women alike. Only
when you looked into his eyes— Arose small
black eyes that first burned with an intense,
shriveling fire, then shifted as if afraid to
look you in the face — did you begin to ques-
tion your first favorable impression. .

"Let me pass the Forbidden Portals, Poly-
dora! What harm can it do? Surely, it will
only benefit us to learn the secrets buried
there."

The President’s face, as she gazed at
Merimtrope across the Purple Railing of
State, wore a grave expression. Swiftly her
mind reviewed the events of the last cen-
tury. How, as a result of the War of the Six
Continents, which had ended just a hundred
years ago, the world had been left prostrate,
stripped of half its female population and
nine tenths of its male. How representatives
of the women, gathering in furious conclave
amid the ruins of Plaxa, for the first Jffme
had fixed the blame for the devastation of
the earth on male aggressiveness. How they
had decided that, so long as men had poli tical
control, wars would continue. How they had
voted for a new world system, in which com-
plete power would be in feminine hands.
How, being five times as numerous as the
men — of whom all the more vigorous speci-
mens had perished in the conflict — they had
been able to enforce their decrees. Since then
only women had held office, and men had
devoted themselves to science, industry and
the like, while their wives and sisters ruled
so well that there had been no war in a
hundred years.

A LL this Polydora remembered. She also
recollected how the old lore, the mechani-
cal lore that had made fighting so terrible,
had all been destroyed on the accession of
the great Thressinga, the first World Presi-
dent. That is, all except the comparatively

few machines and formulae which had been
preserved beyond the Forbidden Portals of
the Universal Museum of Plaxa. The reten-
tion of even these few had been opposed by
a large party, and had been the single con-
cession to the males. But this exception
was thought to be meaningless, since stem
edicts forbade any one to enter the Forbid-
den Portals without permission from the
President, which no President yet had ever
granted.

Yet here was Merimtrope urging Poly-
dora to rescind the century-old prohibition!

“A hundred years have gone by,” he
pleaded. “The time of peril is past. Who
knows that invaluable scientific secrets may
not be buried there? Surely, Polydora, you
are too wise, too enlightened to be held back
by a superstition.”

This appeal was reinforced by a smile
which Polydora could not help returning.

“I will think it over — I will think it over,”
she mused, as she stared indulgently down
at Merimtrope. A faint flush, suffusing the
queenly features, implied that mere princi-
ples of state might not decide. .

Not many minutes after Merimtrope had
bowed his way out, a slimmer figure had en-
tered. Slight of frame, with the gray with-
drawn eyes of a dreamer and a lean scholar’s
face, Larrow was hardly older than the
other man, but gave an impression not of a
coldness like Merimtrope’s but of incisive
intelligence tempered by warmth.

Certainly, there was warmth in his gaze
as he stared up at Polydora, but there was
also sadness, for how could he, a mere sub-
Curator of the Universal Museum, hope to
win favor in the sight of the most sought-
after woman on earth? How could he com-
pete with that dandy of a Merimtrope, who
was always being admitted to an audience
with her, and who, moreover, had ben placed
by her in the high post of City Engineer of
Plaxa? Hut did Larrow not truly love her,
for her own superb self, and not for her posi-
tion or fame? Was it not of her that he
continually dreamed?

Yet her voice, as it reached him from the
high sapphire-studded chair of state, did not
have a lover-like quality. It was crisp, steady,
authoritative.

“Larrpw, I have summoned you in the ab-
sence of your chief Herminand,” she said.
“As acting curator you have charge, have
you not, of the keys to the Ancient Portals?”

Larrow turned pale. A dark intimation
had flashed across his mind.

“Yes, Excellency.”

“You know our City Engineer, Merim-
trope, do you not?”

“Indeed I do. Excellency.”

“If he should ask for the keys, let him
have them. That is all.”

THE NEMESIS OF

“But, Excellency, this — why, this is un-
heard of!” gasped Larrow. “The Ancient Se-
crets — the Ancient Secrets must be guarded.
You know they must be — ”

“You heard what I said!” interrupted Poly-
dora, crisply. “That is all.”

Seeing the angry fires in the President's
vivid' blue eyes, Larrow knew that he had
no choice. Yet as he dragged his way out
of the Hall of All Nations, he had a feeling
as if the mighty marble columns of that
colossal edifice were about to collapse upon
his head.

In the Hall of the Black Eras, behind the
Forbiddeh Portals of the Universal Museum,
the air was stagnant and musty-smelling.
Tempered by the heavy dark curtains, the
electric lights let out a dull glow that gave
a tomb-like effect to the great vaulted re-
cesses. As he made his way among the
glass cases filled with intricate machines, the
visitor would have looked like an intruder
ia a sepulchre, could any observer have
seen him.

Merimtrope's black eyes glittered. With a
devouring gaze, he paused before each case.
The one that held him longest was the cen-
tral display.

"TTHIS represented a curious fish-shaped
car, which, pointed upward at an angle
of forty-five degrees, was all sheathed in a
glistening coppery metal. More than a hun-
dred feet long and fifteen or twenty in width,
it was windowless except for a few small
eye-slits, but there were several openings
or hatches a little like torpedo tubes. In
each of these a formidable-looking, bullet-
shaped contrivance, two feet across and ten
or twelve long, had been placed as if on ex-
hibition.

“Ah,” muttered Merimtrope. “The Astro-
pede!”

The Astropede, as every one had heard
with, shudders of horror, was an instrument
of destruction invented at the close of the last
war — the most powerful ever conceived, it
was said. But since, unhappily, the War of
the Six Continents had ended before the
device could be tried, no one really knew
just how devastating it could be.

“Too bad,” reflected Merimtrope. “Too
bad!” What manner of men had his fathers
been, that they had let so dire an implement
go to waste?

The machine itself interested him less than
did a little red-marked document preserved
at one side under a glass case. Strain his
eyes as he would, Merimtrope could not make
out any of die figures beneath the glass bar-
rier. Yet was it not for this, the scientific
formulae behind the Astropede, that he had
cajoled Polydora into letting him pass the
Forbidden Portals?

THE ASTROPEDE 59

For only a moment he hesitated. True, the
act he contemplated was not only prohibited,
it was held to be a crime against the White
Eras. If discovered he would be given a
pinch of lethal powder and required to swal-
low it within twenty -four hours. But who
would discover him? Polydora had granted
permission to him only. Not even a guard
would dare pass the Portals, now safely hid-
den from view behind winding galleries. If
any one should come in hereafter and learn
what had happened, how prove who was re-
sponsible? Might it not seem that some thief
had entered unknown to any one?

Besides, by the time the act was detected,
he would have accomplished his purpose!

So reflecting, Merimtrope lifted his san-
daled heel and brought it crashing down
against the glass. A minute later, the red-
marked document was concealed in the folds
of his robes, while the fragments of glass lay
hidden in a corner.

Not long afterwards, the City Engineer wbb
rumored to be engaged in a secret mining
project miles to the west of the city. Just
what the project involved was not known,
for several acres were walled off with barbed
wire, but it was reported that valuable min-
erals had been found and were being de-
veloped for Polydora’s benefit.

This story had, indeed, a foundation in
fact, the fact being that Merimtrope had just
made this statement to the President. With
her complete faith in him, she had let him
dig for the rare metals he claimed to have
discovered. Pre-occupied as she was with
matters of state, and having no knowledge
of science, why should she bother to see the
great shaft, twenty feet thick and a hundred
yards long, which was being dug at a forty-
five degree angle? Why should she care if a
fish-shaped car, sheathed in a glistening cop-
pery metal, was taking shape within the ex-
cavation?

All this Merimtrope took great pains to
keep secret. Only those of the inner circle,
his trusted friends and advisers, were ad-
mitted inside the enclosure. Since most of
the work was done by in ter -atomic ma-
chines, hardly any laborers were needed.

But how astonished Polydora would have
been to-have overheard the conversation be-
tween Merimtrope and his friend Wendaye,
the Assistant City Engineer, on the evening
after his passage of the Forbidden Portals!

■JXCITEDLY Merimtrope paced the floor
"of his glass-enclosed tower studio, while
Wendaye stood regarding him, arms akimbo,
in an attitude of deep contemplation.

“This has been a woman’s world too ac-
cursedly long,” the former was exclaiming.
“What are we men, anyhow? Mere babes-in-
arms that have to mind our mammas? Of

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

course, you can say the old girls have ruled
well enough for a hundred years. But is it
fair for men like me to be kept from office
just because we’re men? By my father’s
ghost, it hurts my self-respect. I long for
the stirring old days!”

‘1, too!” agreed Wendaye, his hawk eyes
gleaming. “Woman’s place, if you ask me, is
in the nursery. It’s high time for us men
to re-assert ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“But how? That’s the question. The wom-
en — curse them — have the legal and moral
power.”

“Legal and moral be hanged. What counts
is the physical force. And I have that now.”
“You have that?”

"Yes, I have it.”

In excited whispers, Merimtrope told of
his visit past the Forbidden Portals. Then
he displayed the red-sealed document.

“You see, it’s quite practicable,” he ex-
plained, his hooked fingers trembling as he
and his assistant pored over the papers. “It’s
easy enough to make an Astropede, now that
we have the plans.”

“Let’s see if I understand,” Wendaye cried,
a baleful glint shining from his reddish un-
easy eyes. “The Astropede is a rocket car
that can shoot beyond the stratosphere, is it
not? It carries a crew of five. Having passed
the limits of the atmosphere, it goes circling
around the earth as a satellite. It can keep
on its course for months, before its crew
send it back to earth.”

“Just so,” Merimtrope explained enthusi-
astically. “And each time it passes a certain
place— say, Plaxa — it can discharge some of
the machine-bombs, which shatter into ten
thousand explosive fragments, each as pow-
erful as a six-inch shell. There’s no defense
against it. No earth-battery, no strato-
spheric plane could reach that rocket car.
Surrender is the only recourse!”

“Then, in no time at all, we could take
Plaxa — could make ourselves its rulers,”
exclaimed Wendaye.

“Yes, and end the reign of women!”

The conspirators did not mention that,
incidentally, they would bring back the old
ordeal of terror and bloodshed. They did
not mention the treason of overthrowing the
President whom the whole world loved and
admired, and who had treated the plotters
themselves with signal favor. Ambition, the
ancient autocrat, glittered from their eyes as
they silently shook hands and began poring
anew over the formulae for the Astropede.

Even as Merimtrope took the keys to the
Forbidden Portals, Larrow had noted the
avid look in the City Engineer’s eyes. He
had seen the eagerness with which the latter
entered the secret corridors. He had ob-
served the inordinate length of time that

passed before Merimtrope’s return. Further-
more, he did not miss the expression, half
furtive and half gloating, which played about
the man’s audacious features as he handed
back the keys.

Larrow had never liked Merimtrope, but it
was not mere dislike that forced upon him
the conviction that the City Engineer was
up to mischief. A suspicion, so terrible that
he blamed himself for even entertaining it,
flashed into Larrow ’s mind. The thought
persisted. He could not rid himself of it,
until gradually the idea of possible counter-
action took hold of him.

Should he not enter the Forbidden Portals,
and try to discover what Merimtrope had
been doing there? In his official position at
the Museum, he could slip in at any time —
though this was strictly against the law and
he would have to taste the Drug of Annihila-
tion if caught. For a long while he debated
the matter. As he did so, his mind formed
a vision of the noble, classic face of Polydora,
with her rich golden locks and eyes tinted
like the sparkling blue sea. For her sake he
decided he must take the risk.

S HE stole into the Hall of the Black
*®Eras he felt as if the ghosts of past cen-
turies were pursuing him in the tomb-like
recesses beneath the heavy dark curtains.
Only by a supreme effort of the will did he
force himself through the musty atmosphere
and among the cases of grisly-looking ma-
chines. Some sure instinct brought him di-
rectly to the central display, where, accord-
ing to the descriptions which he knew by
heart, the model of the Astropede should be,
along with a little glass case containing the
plans.

There was the Astropede, untouched. But
where were the plans? For several minutes
Larrow searched in vain. Then his eyes fell
upon a small telltale fragment of glass upon
the floor. As clearly as if it had been marked
in blazing letters, he knew what had hap-
pened.

Larrow’s heart was heavy as he made his
way back past the Forbidden Portals. Now
he knew that dire catastrophe threatened
knew that Merimtrope, beneath the whip of
ambition, would stop at nothing. But how
could Larrow inform Polydora? To tell her
what he knew would be to reveal that he had
passed the Forbidden Portals himself. This
would mean that he must consume the Drug
of Annihilation, while Merimtrope remained
free to pursue his plans. No, he must find
some subtler way.

For days he pondered, without coming to
any conclusion. Meanwhile, hearing of Mer-
imtrope’s alleged mine, he realized what the
City Engineer had in view. Only then did
he seek an audience with the President, hop-

THE NEMESIS OF

ing by means of sly hints to put her on the
trail.

As always Polydora’s beauty made him
forget that he was a mere citizen and she
the Head of State. But, as always, she re-
ceived him with stem dignity, as befits a
ruler addressing one of the rank and file.
“Well, Larrow, what news today?”

“Not exactly any news, Excellency. For-
give me if I express a thought that has trou-
bled me for many days. It was I, as you
know, who gave City Engineer Meiimtrope
the keys to the Forbidden Portals.”

At mention of this name, Polydora bristled
slightly, and sat up more alertly in the Seat
of State. A faint eolor overspread the exqui-
site oval of her face.

“Perhaps I am wrong, Excellency,” Lar-
row went on, “but I feel sure I am not. That
which I saw in the eyes of Merimtrope — and
I have trained myself to read men’s eyes,
Excellency — bodes no good for us all. So, as
a loyal citizen, I have come to beg you to
keep careful watch over him — to investigate,
in particular, his mine west of the city,
where, I have ascertained, geologists believe
there can be no ore worth recovering.”

M^OLYDORA shot up from her seat, a tall,
" majestic figure of wrath. Her words
were restrained, but her emotion was evi-
dent.

“Wfiat is thpt? You have the effrontery,
Larrow, to cast aspersions on one far better
than you? Fie on you! You should be
ashamed of yourself. If there is anything
you know, I shall be glad to hear it. But
these vague, unproved imputations, these
vaporings of jealousy and rage, they may be
worthy of a gossiping old granddame. But
not of a man, Larrow. Not of a man!”
“But, Excellency,” protested Larrow,
writhing beneath the rebuke, “it is not jeal-
ousy or rage. Will you listen to me?”

“I will not listen! There are more impor-
tant things before me than your sputterings,
Larrow. Some day, when you are reason-
able, I may hear you again. Meanwhile, I
warn you, do not besmirch the good name of
one of our leading citizens.”

Retreating like one whom a shower of
blows had struck, Larrow was grieved not
only because Polydora was unaware of her
peril, but because she had unwittingly testi-
fied to the depth of her devotion for Merim-
trope.

Thenceforth, he perceived, nothing could
be done through Polydora directly. But did
this not merely prove the need for some
more emphatic action?

Yet what action was possible? Before
many days rumors told him the work within
the so-called mine was nearly complete.
These reports he could not verify, but the

THE ASTROPEDE 5T

self-satisfied, jubilant manner in which Mer-
imtrope stalked about nowadays, like one
who has the world in his pocket, seemed
complete substantiation of the news. Clearly,
the time for action was soon or never.

It was then that he resolved upon a des-
perate expedient. It seemed to have a slight
chance though if anything went wrong, it
would cost Larrow his life.

First of all, he must find his way into Mer-
imtrope’s enclosure west of town. But how?
If seen and recognized, he would be blotted
out without compunction. Merimtrope’s en-
closure was not only surrounded with electri-
cally charged barbed wire, but was pro-
tected by armed guards.

It was not exactly a new method that Lar-
row had in mind, although a highly hazard-
ous one. The supposed mine would require
large quantities of supplies, and these could
only come fiom the Municipal Warehouse
of Plaxa. With this fact in view, Larrow
carefully concocted his scheme.

His first step was to absent himself from
the museum, on the plea of illness. His sec-
ond was to disguise himself. He clipped off
his moustache, added spectacles, dyed his
hair until it appeared grizzled, and dressed
himself in unkempt clothes. His third move
was to seek employment at the Municipal
Warehouse, where, because of the heavy
work and the low wages, helpers were con-
stantly sought.

Once established as a clerk in the shipping
department, he was not long in learning what
goods were destined for Merimtrope. Hence
he was able to carry out his scheme one
morning when, by deliberate design, he ar-
rived ahead of his fellow workers. In his
robes a few small tools were concealed, a
knife, a pocket-size saw, a monkey-wrench,
a screwdriver, a pair of pliers, a flashlight.
In his mind a desperate resolve remained
planted.

There was a wooden case, not yet boarded
down, which contained a canvas-like cloth
ordered by Merimtrope. It was the matter
of but a moment for Larrow to remove and-
hide part of this material, while he placed
himself in the two-by-ten space beneath the
remaining cloth, and drew it over himself so
as to leave the appearance of the whole
unchanged. A few inconspicuous holes, has-
tily drilled in the sides of the box, would
provide him with air.

Overheated, wet with perspiration, and
half suffocated despite the air-holes, he lay
motionless in his casket-like hideout. He
heard the lid hammered down above him,
felt himself being jerked and carried away,
now on one side, now on the other, now
upside down. After a seemingly endless in-
terval, while he gasped for breath as in a liv-
ing grave, there came a jar that left him

58 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

stunned. Only after some time, when his
senses had gradually returned, did he realize
that the box had reached its destination.

"^JOW came the most dangerous test of
* '* all. as he used the pliers and saw to
break his way out of the box. If any work-
men were near at hand, he would not only
fail to save Polydora, but would throw his
life away all for nothing. But he took hope
from the fact that work in the enclosure was
done by machinery, whose noise would
drown out the sound of the tools.

He had not miscalculated. Before many
minutes he found himself stepping out into a
dimly lighted enclosure, reminding him of
a subway tube, except that it had a slant as
of a steep hill. Even in his slightly dazed
condition, he recognized this as the inside
of the Astropede.

Guided by the whizzing of machines for-
ward, he climbed at a dangerous slant, until
he was just outside a little cabin, which was
the source of the light. Within it, several
men were gathered. Now and then, by press-
ing one ear to the wall, he could catch frag-
ments of their conversation when the noise
of the machinery temporarily died down.

“Well,” he heard a jubilant voice, which
he recognized as that of Merimtrope, “it’s al-
most done!”

“Almost,” came an exultant echo. Then
for a minute Larrow could not distinguish
anything.

“All that’s left now is to fix the inter-
spatial controls,” a speaker finally remarked.

“Make sure they’re set at forty-eight de-
grees,” Merimtrope cautioned. “Anything
more than that, and we can kiss good-bye
to — ”

Larrow did not catch the last word, but
had no trouble in guessing it.

It was three or four minutes before he
could make out any more of . the conversa-
tion. But the next words startled him.

“This evening, then?”

"This evening at sunset.”

“Splendid. Let’s get a little rest before
we start.”

Larrow heard a chuckling laughter, then
a shuffling of heavy forms in his direction.
Crouching motionless against the wall, he
feared detection to be but an instant away
as three men filed out of the cabin door. But
they brushed past his shadowed shape with-
out appearing to notice it and, with a bel-
lowing of obscene oaths, disappeared for-
ward.

Never had Larrow realized that the time
was so short. He must checkmate the con-
spirators in the remaining few hours before

M'-jset!

There was hardly time for caution, yet
Larrow was saved by the complete absence

of workers in the hold of the Astropede.
Fumbling down through the steep gloom, he
did not dare to use his flashlight until sev-
eral partitions separated him from the cabin.
Then, by the sparing use of the rays, he
searched for the engine-room.

Only after what seemed eternities of blind
groping did he push open a door into a little
room equipped with an intricacy of com-
passes, field telescopes, and other instru-
ments.

“Ah!” he thought “The navigator’s
cabin!”

Working at increased tempo, he examined
some knobs, dials and rods, among which he
discovered a series marked, “Interspatial
Controls.” The latter were set at forty-eight
degrees! Now, for the first time, a thrill as
of accomplishment shot through Larrow.

The next problem was to discover the con-
nections of the inter-spatial controls. Any
tampering in the navigator’s cabin would be
instantly discovered, but alterations else-
where might not be detected so easily.

Another difficult hour had passed before
he had worked his way into the compart-
ment behind the navigator’s cabin, and, amid
a complexity of machinery, found the jointed
series of rods connecting with the inter-
spatial controls. These, he saw clearly, were
intended to keep the ship at a definite angle
in its flight. Any increase above the estab-
lished forty-eight degrees meant that it
might escape from control and fly off into
space.

As he made these observations, he was
almost thrown to his feet by a violent shud-
dering of the vessel, a little like an earth-
quake. Could they be setting out already?
But no! the shuddering quickly died down.
This was only a preliminary try-out of the
engines. But never had Larrow been so
aware of the urgency for haste.

WN TERROR of being trapped in the Astro-
®pede, he set to work. How fortunate that
he had hrought his tools! Here and there he
loosened a screw, yonder he untightened a
bolt or two. That was all. An inspector
would have had to look very closely to dis-
cover anything amiss, but he knew that the
controls would work free, so that they would
not obey the navigator’s will. While the
machine apparently was set at forty-eight
degrees, it might actualy start out at fifty-
eight or sixty-eight. Before the source of the
trouble could be discovered and corrected,
it would be too late!

Such, at least, was Larrow’s hope. But for
one brief terrorized instant, he had the im-
pression that it was he who was too late.
For the vessel gave yet another shudder, as
if on a preliminary warm-up.

Now for the last and almost the most dif-

THE NEMESIS OF

ficult part of his project How escape un-
seen? Of course Larrow knew that his only
chance was through one of the hatches that
lined the vessel’s sides, waiting to be filled
with their deadly projectiles. His problem
therefore was to slip down into one of them,
pry loose the fastenings, and squeeze his
way into the exeavation.

Fortunately, the rumbling of machinery
forward still drowned out the noise of Lar-
row’s tools, and he managed, after what
seemed hours, to unloosen the hatch lid.
There was a space of but a foot or two be-
neath, between the hatch and the earth of
the shaft. After fastening the lid hack into
place, Larrow had to creep between the
Astropede and the earth in complete black-
ness along a cavity barely wide enough to
contain him.

He was still cautiously descending when,
with stunning suddenness, he slipped and
found himself in a pit six feet deep. Bruised
and confused, he was about to pick himself
up, when a deafening hiss came to his ears,
a great shadow shot above him followed by
a blazing crimson light, a reek of half-suf-
focating fumes came to his nostrils, and a
whirlwind seemed to catch him and toss
him about.

When, a minute later, he came to himself,
he saw that the shaft was empty. From high
above, he could make out the red glow of
sunset. . .

Thousands of spectators had been startled
by the apparition of the fish-shaped monster,
which, followed by jets of fire, had leapt in-

Next Issue’s Novel: FORGOTTE

THE ASTROPEDE s»

to the evening skies and disappeared like a
meteor. Yet it was long before the world had
learned the story behind this flaming vision.
The one man who knew the facts did not
reveal them until many days had gone by —
not until he had had time to be certain of
his results.

At last, convinced by Merimtrope’s silence
that he and his henchmen had vanished for-
ever in the outer abysses of the Solar Sys-
tem, he sought an audience with Polydora,
and made a complete confession.

“Now Excellency,” he finished his recital,
as she stared down at him with grave atten-
tive eyes, “you may prescribe the Drug of
Annihilation. I have broken the law, and
am ready to suffer the penalty.”

A long silent moment passed. A faint smile
fluttered to the President’s face.

“No, Larrow, the error was not yours,"
she said. “I do not reward the people's
savior with the Drug of Annihilation. Be-
sides — ” here she tugged absently at the
lapis-lazuli clasps of her golden locks — “we
will be needing a new City Engineer. Would
you care to consider it?”

“Oh, Excellency!” Larrow burst forth,
overwhelmed.

“Why do you call me ‘Excellency’?” she
rebuked him, with a beaming light in her
face. “My name is Polydora.”

“I shall be delighted — Polydora!”

Her answering smile assured him that he
had accomplished even more than he had
intended in ridding the world of Merim-
trope and the Astropede.

WORLD, by Edmond Hamilton

COSMIC CARAVAN

By ID WESTON

Amid the muck and torrential storms ot Venus, a greed-mad
hand of space adventurers fights a soul-shaking battle in
a tempestuous rush for the possession of boundless wealth!

CHAPTER I
■ Expedition to Venus

I WAS in McGurk’s Bar trying to conjure
a story out of a whisky glass when Han-
sen prowled in and drew me to a booth.

Lifted me, would be more accurate. He had
a hard, rock-miner’s shoulders, that man. The
rest of him consisted of fists like hams, a chin
like a grand piano, and wide blue eyes shed-

A COMPLETE INTERPLANETARY NOVELET

ding the human kindness of a wolf.

“For the last ten years they’ve been experi-
menting with space ships,” he said. How
many of them have really worked?

“One,” I told him. “If you call it working.
Apparently, Hugo Thomas got to Venus and
returned near enough to Earth to radio about
it. Then he vanished.”

Hansen looked wise. “That’s all his young
protege, Sails, ever gave out. But Sails had
the only equipment in the world to pick up

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

that space message!’’

I sat forward at his tone. The incident had
occurred five years previously. All the world
had wondered how much the taciturn young
scientist had failed to divulge.

"Thomas discovered enormous teklite beds
near the Venusian north pole,” Hansen told
me. "He instructed Sails to build another
space ship and go after it.”

I swallowed hard. “And Sails has built
one secretly?”

Hansen just chuckled.

“Good grief!” I gasped. Then I squinted
at Hansen. “But where do you fit in? Sails
would only trust the very pick of the scien-
tific world in this.”

“Unfortunately for Sails’, Hugo Thomas
specified no scientists. He wanted an expedi-
tionary party limited to clean-cut, typical
young Americans.” He paused and looked
innocently at the ceiling. “Sails had to come
to me for the financing.”

He gave the names of the men selected.
There was Costigan, the Lansing Landslide at
Michigan ten years back. Deval, who knew
how to take other men’s inventive ideas and
make them practicable. Akeley, whose busi-
ness was filling stations, but who dabbled
with archaeology. Martin, who was a bug
for exploration. Winslow, who owned a small
tool and machine works somewhere. Fabray,
a chemical specialist in metal gasses. Samp-
son, a construction engineer. A cluck named
Jake Reese who unaccountably made money
at anything he went into. “Sails,” Hansen
and myself.

I considered my total lack of qualifications
for such a trip.

“Why pick on me .to share your suicide
plan?” I asked.

Hansen grinned. “I named you,” he said.
“Thanks for my murder!” I snapped.
“Why?”

HBE TAPPED my hand with a forefinger
■" like a railroad spiK?. “Because you are
the only newspaper reporter I know who’ll
tell the story just as it happened. Also
TTiomas suggested you.”

“You wouldn’t mean there may be dirty
work?” I suggested.

Hansen’s eyes glittered. “Nobody can guess
about that. What do you know of gravium?”
I dug into my memory. “It’s fabulous
stuff. So rare it can be produced only in the
most minute quantities by the most delicate
synthesis known to science. And at enormous
expense. It belongs to the platinum family.
It is heavier than blazes. Its ore would be
teklite if we had teklite on Earth. Which we
haven’t. So we have no gravium.”

He nodded. “Know why we need it?”
“Sure. It’s the only known stuff which
can insulate neutrons. Gravium’s vitally

needed for atomic furnaces.”

He considered me for a long time.

“Gravium, pal, is worth one half million
dollars per ounce,” he said. “Any man who
possessed a pound could run the world.”

I began to conceive the magnitude of this
cosmic jaunt!

He bit off the tip of a cigar and put an even
glow upon the end. “Now you understand the
reporter part. I’m not looking for a chronicler
with idealistic urges. I’m not risking my neck
for humanity!”

I shot him a look of sardonic humor. The
fellow who prints the Lord’s Prayer on the
head of a pin could not have put all of Han-
sen’s sins against humanity on the outside
of a battle cruiser! He flew the Jolly Roger,
but he was a good pirate in his way.

The idea of the trip was mad. It was crazy.
If Hugo Thomas couldn’t get back, what
chance would we have? But if we did man-
age it, I’d have the biggest news scoop in
history. And incidentally, enough money to
buy a string of newspapers.

"I’m dotty, but count me in,” I said. “Now
let’s have a drink.”

Then Hansen gave me another jolt — a big-
ger one, this time. He told me the ship was
all ready and set to go, and that we’d leave
in four or five hours. I was stunned.

So we really were starting off for Venus!

I didn’t want to think about it. I suggested
another drink. In fact, I got plastered. But
Hansen took care of me. Later he poured
me aboard the ship and, before I got the
feathers out of my brain, we were off.

To a world familiar with Hugo Thomas’
earlier ship there was nothing unusual in
this craft, except that it was larger. It was
shaped like a huge sea-ray and utilized com-
mon principles of jet propulsion within the
atmosphere. Out of the atmosphere it was
non-controllable. It was launched by cata-
pult and flung off gravity by powerful
rockets.

Its course was computed in advance and
directed from flight inception by the time-
angle of catapult and rocket performance
within bands of atmosphere. If the computa-
tion was a fraction off, we had only a brief
time in the atmosphere to rectify the error —
or else!

The chief scientific advancements involved
were in metals, alloys, insulation of the shell,
the delicate in-gravity gyro-course controls,
and the internal telescoping break system to
remove the terrific shock of starting out of a
stationary position and gaining 25,200 miles
per hour, within forty minutes. This speed
was just sufficient to escape the gravitational
pull of Earth and put us on a parabola.
Greater speeds would have involved enor-
mous increase of armor weight to combat th®
rising ratio of friction.

COSMIC CABAVAN

Various bulkheads and insulation cham-
bers of the shell totaled eighteen feet solid
thickness. The outer skin was a foot and a
half thick. It was estimated that by our re-
turn to Earth, this thickness would have
been reduced to between four and seven
inches by friction.

Sails had followed Hugh Thomas’ instruc-
tions to the letter. Sails was a scientific
fanatic. To him, this was the greatest event
in all science history. But instead of having
the world’s leading scientists along, he had
what to him were a bunch of playboys. He
didn't like that.

At first, when we took off from Earth, we
were filled with excitement. But our exuber-
ance soon simmered down to a simple state
of wonder, like a child might feel in a dream.

'■'tlERE was something awe-inspiring about
•■•limitless space. We spent a lot of time
looking out at that vast blackness dotted
with billions of brilliant stars. It gave us a
feeling of unimportance.

But we soon got used to that and turned to
common everyday talk — endless arguments
over baseball^ politics and bridge. It’s not
strange that Sails grew bitterly disgusted.

But our smug conceit disappeared when
we hit the cold field.

Until then, space temperature had re-
mained at dead zero. At no other time had
it varied the slightest on our thermometers.
But suddenly we passed through some in-
visible field which turned the air so cold
it nearly froze our lungs. Dampness instantly
shimmered as crystals. Hoarfrost lay across
our flesh. Had the field been one second
wider, it would have frozen our air-condi-
tioning mechanism solid.

This field came as a complete surprise.
There was nothing to explain its existence,
or why it was there. We had no warning.

We had barely recovered our self confi-
dence when we had a second brush with
oblivion. Light blasted out of that lightless
void outside. It came right through our in-
sulated shell and knocked us flat.

Do I make that clear? Light, which is
supposed to have no body or weight, came
through eighteen inches of insulated shell
with such force that it knocked us down,
and out, and left us shaky for days!

That frightened us plenty. Such unknown
perils unhinge common sense and reason
and stir up primitive fears. Space neurosis
was getting us down. Then Hansen stalked
belligerently among us.

“Maybe it was a devil,” he bellowed. “But
I’d fight fifty thousand devils for the fortune
we’re going to make!”

That toughness saved us. It shamed us. It
put fight back into us and boosted our morale
just at a time when courage was needed most.

63

CHAPTER II

Gravium Fever

WfENUS whirled like a great green pin-
® wheel out of the black void on our star-
board bow. It grew fantastically, floating
obliquely toward our plotted conjunction.
There was an awesome majesty to the pale
glistening planet, festooned with wisps of
clouds.

We shot suddenly into pea soup atmos-
phere. Circling the planet, Sails handled the
craft now with admirable skill. Our rockets
boomed. At last we bumped, landed, and
jolted to a halt.

Sails came to the door of the control room
and looked at us with frozen contempt. I
knew he was thinking of the ten greatest
names in science who might have been in
our places.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said with bitter
sarcasm. “You are within two hundred miles
of the Venusian north pole and your wonder-
ful fortunes!”

Then somebody swung the thick ports
open and we jumped down onto Venus.

Impenetrable green fog strung by in slow-
ly writhing blankets. A strange, sulphurous
smell hit our nostrils. There was light, but
it came from the fog itself — a green phos-
phorescent opalescence that glared most
brightly where the fog was thickest. There
was thick mud underfoot.

We lifted our voices in d mighty yell. Emo-
tions of relief and victory surged up wildly.
Laughing and shouting, we tossed each other
in the mire. We rubbed ooze onto our faces
and into each other’s hair. We romped with
that unpent boisterousness of huskies in the
year’s first snow.

Soon I remembered my job and slipped on
actinic ray goggles to scrutinize the planet.
What I saw cooled my high ardor.

It was a land of utter desolation — a place
of brooding quiet fresh from some diluvian
age. Before me lay a green wet world of
vast distances and swirling fog. Huge lichens
clung close to the hideous green muck. They
were the only life.

A sudden clanking noise froze me and
crisped the hair along my neck. I saw Han-
sen’s hilarity vanish. He tested his balance
and took Ids bearings on the spaceship’s
open port. Deval fell into a position of de-
fense. Akeley moved back a step like a
waiting cat.

A diminutive tractor suddenly emerged
from the fog. A huge man was sitting astride,
riding the box like a bicycle. He resembled
an Earth being, but he was green. Green from

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

his long hair and bushy eyebrows and flesh
to the fabric of his clothes.

He drew the tractor around and stopped.
Hansen stared. He put out a big muscular
hand and felt the man’s shoulders.

“Hugo Thomas!” he boomed. “You’re
alive and here.”

“Facts which I can verify,” the scientist
answered.

His words came slowly and with difficulty,
for he had been many years alone. Emotion
made his voice tremble.

Sails rushed forward and embraced Thom-
as as one resurrected from the dead. Thomas’
eyes glistened as he returned the younger
man’s bearlike hug.

Then he turned from Sails and put a big
green hand on Hansen’s shoulder. It was
easy to see these two men understood and
respected each other.

Thomas explained that he had radioed from
a point near Earth, but a force field had
whipped him around and straight back to
Venus.

“You could have taken off for Earth again,”
I said, nettled.

He shrugged. “There was much work to
do here and Earth had my message. Sooner
or later somebody was bound to come along.”
Sharp humor crinkled his broad face. “I
rather suspected it would be you, Hansen.”

“You were careful not to suggest my
name,” Hansen growled.

The scientist chuckled. “What need to?
Gravium and you — a fortune and a big risk
— the toughest mining job in history — It was
as natural as the swing of a needle toward
a magnet.”

Hansen rubbed his hands. “Then the gravi-
um is here? There is teklite?” A glow smol-
dered' in his eyes.

Thomas gestured toward a low ridge.
“Right on the surface.”

Hansen didn’t hesitate. Unable to contain
himself, he started for the ridge. His feel-
ings were contagious. I have seen gold
rushes and stake races for diamond claims,
but I’ve never seen men go berserk as we
did.

g^IFTY yards from the ship, men began
* to stagger and drop. We hadn’t adjusted
ourselves to the low gravity or atmosphere.
Our lightest motions threw us off balance
and left us spent. Heaven knows what our
blood pressure must have been in our crazed
excitement.

When I got to the ridge, Hansen and Akeley
were digging furiously. Costigan came up
gasping. Then Deval and Fabray, and Martin
reeled forward and fell. Nobody paid the
slightest attention. Every man was too fran-
tic, digging his bare hands into that miasmic
muck.

I think Hansen’s fever was wildest, and yef
he was coolest of the lot. He stopped sudden-
ly, staring into the fog. Seizing the filter
scanner, he walked away. When he returned,
there was a hard setness to his face.

“I can’t make out the ship," he said in a
worried voice.

Weird ideas pass through the mind in a
new world. Maybe the ship had disintegrated.
Maybe it wasn’t there. Maybe somebody had
flown it away. It was like being marooned
on a strange atoll, without any way of getting
off.

I took the scanner and climbed the low
ridge. Nothing but green glare met my gaze.
I turned back, filled with terror. Now there
was no sign of the men. I yelled. The fog
swallowed my voice. Really swallowed it,
as thoroughly as sound absorbers in labora-
tories. Panic-stricken, I bolted down the
ridge and bumped into Akeley without see-
ing him! Yet there was still the same in-
tensity of light.

Hansen showed his mettle at that moment.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” he snapped.
“Our oxygen’s running out. Back to the ship.
Come orl!”

“But what if we get lost,” Reese whim-
pered.

“Then crawl!” Hansen barked.

He was brutal, but his voice gave us fresh
confidence. There was plenty of fighting spirit
in Hansen.

He moved ahead, a gigantic shadow in the
green fog. I kept at his heels, yet the suck
of his footsteps sounded as a bare whisper.
I grew desperately tired — the weariness of
utter exhaustion. I fell, got up, and fell
again. The twentieth time I quit fighting the
fog and oozing muck. I slept right there.

I awakened with an instant sense of deser-
tion. The light had not changed, but that
meant nothing. I shouted. Slowly, the terri-
ble fact seeped into me. The fog was now
completely sound absorbent. Not a sound
came back.

An unreasoning anger boiled up through
me — a fury that I had come all this way
through space to get lost within a few yards
of my ship. I clambered to my feet and
plunged ahead. My heart pumped madly,
but I kept on until something hard hit me
on the forehead and blocked my passage.

I could see nothing, but I felt the ship’s hull,
and recognized it, immediately in front of me.

I groped for the hatch and dragged myself
in. I have felt strong emotions in my life,
but never such utter relief as coming through
that port.

I did not recover from my oxygen exhaus-
tion until several hours later. Perhaps my
condition was complicated by the dampness
of the atmosphere. I came into semi-con-

W COSMIC

■ ■ciousness, and grew vaguely aware of Sails
| talking passionately.

r “Earth has got to have gravium dirt cheap,
i Professor!” he was shouting. “Science needs
L it as a man needs water.”

’ Thomas sounded faintly amused. “Well,
l how would fifty dollars an ounce be for a
•starting price? Eventually we may get it
f down to the price of steel or iron.”

I felt a vague disturbance at this thought,
but I drifted back into coma. When I finally
awakened, Hansen, Akeley and Deval were
sitting at the ward table talking. Deval
poured me a cup of coffee and brandy. Sails
had gone.

I had forgotten about local gravity and I
nearly knocked out my teeth with the coffee
cup, but the strong, hot drink cleared my
head and gave me fresh strength.

“You heard it, Akeley, and so did you,
Deval!” Hansen said in hard tones. “Gravi-
um, the professor said. Not teklite. But the
pure stuff! At fifty dollars an ounce!” He
broke off and glared with rage. “That would
mean about ten thousand dollars each for
risking our bloody necks to get to this green
hell and back through space!”

■REVAL turned to glance at us.

“Sails would give his share to science,”
he growled. “That would kill the market for
the time. We’d have something worth a for-
tune we couldn’t sell!”

“Sails acts mighty strange to me at times,”
Hansen said in a rasping voice. “A few
months in a sanitarium might do him good.
But we couldn’t put a man like Thomas away
easily. If he gets back to Earth, he’ll be a tin
god.”

'Tf he gets back?” Akeley demanded
sharply.

Hansen met his look with one fully as
black. Then he lighted a cigarette. Hansen
was a shrewd customer. He never said too
much at one time. He let his ideas take root.

We ate heavily and had just finished when
Sails and Thomas came in. The scientist
beamed. It was hard to think of doing any-
thing to such a man.

After a glance at each of us, he nodded
with satisfaction. “Good! You boys are all
well again. You were lucky to get back.
Hereafter, don’t forget to watch the light
changes on Venus.”

“How can we know?” Hansen asked.

“Well, it’s difficult,” Thomas admitted.
“The light intensity never varies. But the
angles of the rays do. They have peculiar
properties in the fog. Filters are only serv-
iceable five out of fourteen hours.”

Hansen considered. “We could rig guide
lines from here to the ridge. But it’s too wet
mining. We’d better wait for dry weath-

CARAVAN tS

Thomas eyes widened. He coughed with
embarrassment.

“Perhaps I should have warned you.” he
apologized. “This is the dry season.”

“This?” Costigan whispered unbelievingly.

Thomas nodded. “In a few days it begins
to rain. Drizzles for seventy-six days, Earth
time. Then it gets really wet."

I stared, trying to imagine such iron resolu-
tion. For five long years he remained ma-
rooned in this steaming green hell of wet
and muck!

Hansen’s thoughts were more direct.

“We couldn't mine an open pit with our
pumps,” he said hollowly.

The scientist smiled. “I have the right
kind of pumps in my spaceship.”

A look of savage relief came over Hansen’s
features. We all grinned. Except Sails. He
continued to be dark and sullen and resent-
ful. Maybe he thought of the wild notions
we had spouted when we thought our for-
tunes were made.

We completed arrangements to visit Thom-
as and then went back to bed. If anybody
had ever told me I could sleep with a rajah’s
fortune within walking distance, I’d have
thought he was crazy.

Four days later our heads were clear, our
spirits restored, and our hearts normal. We
were oriented. I found Hansen eating in the
main saloon. Costigan and Akeley followed
me in. Hansen sat hack and studied us while
we were satisfying our hunger.

“Watch out for Sails and Thomas," he said
at last. “This is going to end in a fight.”

“I don’t like trickery,” Akeley objected.
“Why can’t we talk with Thomas first?”

“And spill our hand?” Hansen snapped.
“Look, we got here safely and know where
the teklite is, and with luck, we’ll get back.
We can own the world.” He gave us a hard,
ruthless look. “Or we can be suckers and
end in a poorhouse.”

We were all scowling, and avoiding each
other’s gaze. We wanted to be decent, but
we wanted to be rich, too. And scientists
do get some screwball ideas about the unim-
portance of money. Again Hansen was smart.
He just left the matter hanging.

We started out for Thomas’ ship and
marched through a maddening green glare
and endless muck for five hourse.

We found Thomas aboard his small ship,
mixing something in a retort. I think he had
forgotten we were on Venus. But he was
glad to see us. He bustled around getting
us some hot drinks, made with real Earth
whisky.

Hansen began studying the work Thomas
was doing. He knew what the experiment
was, much to the surprise of the scientists,
and the two fell into a discussion of metal-
lurgy. Sails maintained a jealous silence.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

66

T ATER, Thomas led the way outside and
fished the ring of a trap door out of the
mud. We followed him down a long ramp into
dank underground vaults which, he explained
with embarrassment, he had originally built
upon the surface. In five years, they had
sunk from sight.

The room was constructed of some strange
alloy with a fiery russet glow. The floor was
spongy, a rubberoid product he had made
out of Venusian lichens. He nodded toward
a large power plant.

“That armature is gravium alloy,” he said
casually.

Costigan nearly choked. The material of
that plant, on Earth, would be worth prob-
ably a half billion dollars.

“But this was my greatest achievement,”
Thomas boomed with pride, gesturing at
racks of large-sized hose. “I ' refined that
rubber from the local lichens.”

Hansen looked over the pumps and hose
with a grim satisfaction. They were miner'*
pumps, tough and built for service.

“I could come over and help,” Thomas sug-
gested uncertainly.

I studied him. Suddenly I realized that,
incredible as it seemed, he thought we might
consider him useless — in the way!

“You’ve just begun those experiments to
reduce production costs of gravium, Profes-
sor,” Sails cut in, giving us a glance of mock-
ing amusement. “The professor thinks every
home should have its own atomic power
plant."

Costigan stared. Akeley’s lips twitched.
Hansen’s jaw grew hard. We all had the same
thought If we controlled all the atomic pow-
er, we could run the world, but not with an
atomic furnace in every cellar.

Thomas sighed. “Yes, I had forgotten the
experiments. But you boys Will have great
fun getting that teklite out and smelted.”

Thomas lent us his tractor, an amazing
machine which apparently could not be over-
loaded. We hooked on twelve large sledges
of pumping apparatus and the tractor
dragged them up the ramp without a shiver.
We rode back to our ship in style.

When we were aboard, Hansen emitted a
harsh chuckle.

“Boys, I have an idea the professor thinks
we just came out here for the ride!” he said.
“An atomic furnace in every home, eh?”

Akeley’s teeth snapped together. “I’m not
risking my life for glory. I came to make
my fortune.” He glowered at Hansen. “What-
ever you’re thinking. I’ll bet it’s plain rotten.”

“If about fifty billion dollars is rotten, that’s
it” Hansen laughed again but his face looked
plenty tough.

Nobody said anything more. I think we all
know we’d follow whatever diabolical scheme
he hatched. But none of us liked it

CHAPTER HI
"We’ll Own the Earth!”

WR/ITHOUT giving us a hint of what he
planned, Hansen rooted us out for the
start of the real work. He stood at the'--_.
end of the ward room, tough and dynamic
and with a sinister flame burning in his eyes.

“Men, we’ve got the dirtiest piece of min-
ing human beings have ever tackled, and al-
most no equipment for the job,” he growled.
“We’re going to work till we’re ready to drop. ■
Then we’re going to work some more. Maybo
we’ll curse and hate each other. Yet when
it’s over, we can sit around for the rest of
our lives. We’ll own the Earth.”

He put his own spirit into us. He had our"
hands itching to get at that raw teklite. We
could hardly wait to plod back over that i
ridge and wallow in the muck.

It was dirty, heart-breaking work in that |
desolate, depressive green light. It took I
four days of sopping hell to build the guide . |
line. Angle posts wouldn’t hold. We had to
make conical drain foundations for each post.

We floated them as we would buoys. We
lost tools and masks. Even a foot of wire
was precious.

We grew used to dead, weary muscles,
aching lungs, pounding hearts, and sore, run-
ning eyes. Every night we threw wet clothes
into a drying room, bathed, ate and staggered
off to bed. After a few days we didn’t bathe
so often. Finally Reese tried to drop into his
bunk still dressed in wet clothes. Hansen
kicked him out and tore the clothes from his
back. Not for Reese’s sake. He needed man-
power and couldn’t risk Reese becoming ill.

Hansen himself anchored the last post.
Then he stood silent, staring at the writhing
fog.

“Tomorrow we break ground,” he -said.
“Every man bathe, wash and dry his clothes
tonight.”

We tramped back along the guide line, like
grotesque phantoms in that swirling, silent
mist. I knew what it had cost Hansen to say,
“Tomorrow.” He was quivering to get into
that wet hole and tear the first chunk of
teklite from Venus.

At mess, he suddenly stared around him.
“Where’s Costigan and Reese?” he de-
manded.

Nobody had noticed their absence, but
now everybody knew where they were. They
had stayed out at the mine hole. ■»

Hansen turned purple with anger.

Just then the inner hatch banged open.
Costigan stumbled in, shedding mud with
every lurch. As he cast loose his oxygen

COSMIC CARAVAN

mask, I saw his face was scarlet. He carried
a small lump to the table, dumped it with a
thud, and sluiced it clean with a pot of coffee.
It showed up a dull, mottled, purple-green,
shot with streaks of topaz.

During that instant of dead silence, I
thought Hansen would strike him dead.

“Teklite!” Costigan rasped. “At the four
foot level.”

Hansen reached out and grabbed the
chunk, his fury changed into surprise. He
had to strain to move the heavy ore. By an
effort he lifted it, and his face grew gray. His
eyes were like slits of fire, as if he had high
fever.

“Forty pounds!” he breathed.

We had known gravium was heavy. Its
density was 37.8, five times heavier than iron.
But feeling it was fantastic. Senses refused
to credit the enormous weight.

One by one that small chunk of ore was
snatched from hand to hand. At first we
babbled. Then we fell silent, as the ore made
the rounds. Every rich metal casts its own
special spell and fever, but I have never
known such a blazing urge as that teklite
cast

“The first pick after we cleared sludge,”
Costigan exclaimed. “There’s billions there.”

I don’t remember moving or racing out
through that shivery green fog and mile and
a half of muck. Only vaguely can I recall
how we found Reese half drowned, but raving
wildly and refusing to, let go of a large chunk
of ore too big to lift. Hansen laid hinvout
cold with one smash of his heavy fist and
plunged into that hole. Shouting like mad-
men, we all followed him.

My first clear recollection is back in the
ship, sitting with a dean chunk of teklite
in my hands and staring at it. I kept hefting
the ore, unable to believe its weight, fasci-
nated by its color. I remember thinking over
and over like an idiot, “It’s mine — all mine!”
and being carried away with something akin
to exultation.

MMANSEN came in finally, forearm stream-
“ ing blood but with the craziest grin I
have ever seen. Grim, ruthless rapacity
seemed to beat out of him in waves. He went
into the galley and returned, rubbing some-
thing in a towel. Carefully, he laid the object
down. It clanked. He ripped off the towel
and we stared at a nugget of softly glowing
green, no larger than a pea.

“That is real gravium, boys,” he said from
deep in the chest. “That nugget weighs a
good eight pounds.”

We stared at the nugget with fascination.
Sixteen million dollars was lying there,
scarcely bigger than a stickpin. It made the
idea of our fortunes clear to us as nothing
had ud to now. The same thought ran

through every head. We could get bade to
Earth and every man would literally be a
k i n g. Or we could go back as great five-day
wonders, and give our treasure to human-
ity, and wind up forgotten in some poor-
house with other explorers and scientists of
the past

Hansen looked around the circle of faces
and spoke thick tones.

“There it is, boys,” he said. “Now you
know. We can go back and make the world
kick in at our price. Or we can let Thomas
give it gravium at fifty bucks an ounce.”

Deval licked fevered lips. “What’s your
plan?”

“We form a miners’ syndicate,” Hansen
growled. “That leaves Sails out. We can
elect to pay him off in stock instead of a share
of gravium.”

Costigan grunted. “What about Thomas?”

I didn’t like the expression I saw in Han-
sen’s eyes. I looked away, but some of the
same ugly wickedness was eating inside of
me like an acid.

“We’ll worry about Thomas later,” Hansen
rasped.

“I hate a doublecross,” Akeley objected.

Hansen rolled the nugget clanking down
the table.

“Do you hate it more than what you could
get with this, Akeley?" he asked softly.

There was no answer. The souls of many
men have been bartered for less. Hansen
brought out a snydicate agreement and we
all signed. It contained no reference what-
ever of Thomas, and nobody mentioned his
name or rights again. None of us wanted to
think of the limits to which we might go.

The lust to posses that raw naked teklite
drove us like a drug. For two days we
trudged through the endless mud carrying
supplies. We built two workplatforms and
they sank into the slime. The third one,
perched on barrels, like a raft, stayed pre-
cariously afloat. Then one comer went down
and, our equipment followed, and we spent
three miserable days digging them out of the
oozing muck. A sledge or drill was too pre-
cious to be abandoned.

Dissension and despondency were gripping
us on the day when Sampson devjsed a cor-
rugated iron platform, like a keeled raft,
which held steady. It helped, but no more
could be built. We needed every inch of
material left for bracing and the smelter.

Suddenly Reese broke into tears.

“We’ll never be able to mine here,” he
blubbered.

Hansen turned black with rage.

“Nature hasn’t made the place that I can’t
mine,” he roared. But there was a shadow
of grim doubt forming in his eyes.

We went over to see Thomas again, sipping
his brew while he finished some tests. Again.

S8 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

I noticed Hansen’s face lose that wolfish look
and fill with interest in the work.

“What’s the stress differential at ten below
Fahrenheit, for internal and external com-
ponents?” he asked Thomas.

The scientist looked at him with thoughtful
surprise.

“I hadn’t thought of that angle, Hansen.
To a constructor, it would be most important,
of course.”

“Plastics are licking the pants off metals,”
Hansen said. “Somebody’s got to put metals
back where they belong.”

He looked at Sails as if he would like to
fight about it.

Thomas turned back to his tests with a
quiet grin.

“I didn’t know you were interested in
metallurgy — beyond what you could get out
of a mine, Hansen.”

The miner gave a grim laugh. “I was an
iron puddler at fourteen. A form tester two
years later. I lost my father and two brothers
because they couldn’t control gasses on high
grade steel.”

“If we get gravium down cheap enough,
we can make a better steel than tungsten at
twenty dollars per ton,” Thomas remarked.

WjtOR a second, something sparked in Han-
* sen’s eyes. Then the spark dimmed and
he looked cold and ruthless. A lot of things
could happen if gravium were cheap enough.
But Hansen running the world would not be
interested.

“There are enough new minerals up here,
to set up an entire supplementary and basic
metals industry on Venus,” the scientist went
on. “If somebody would locate them.”

Akeley shot him a glance of interest, looked
thoughtful, then snorted to himself.

“How did you get your spaceship off with
just rockets before, Professor?” he asked
curiously.

Thomas laughed. “This ship isn’t an air-
plane, Akeley. No, I’m afraid rockets would
not be enough. I have a small catapult spring,
however, and the two together just about do

Akeley and Hansen exchanged glances, and
something cold and dark and malignant
seemed to be bom within that room, I saw
Hansen’s face, and the expression on it be-
longed to a stone gargoyle.

In the days following, the ruthless drive
for fortune crystallized within us, but it
was running a race against the mounting de-
pression of the atmosphere. Men turned surly
and cooperation became a myth. Three times
when strikes were made, the pump men
deserted their posts in the wild rush to get
down to the actual ore. The tunnels were
flooded in those few minutes, and Fabray was
trapped and nearly drowned.

On the twenty-fourth day, the fogs cleared
like morning mist We stared and then leaped
and yelled. Thomas must have been wrong!
The evil of that dank planet lifted from our
hearts. Dinner that day was almost sociable.
We discussed a runway for our ultimate take-
off. We drew blueprints for cracking plant
and blast furnace.

The ore was assaying rich — twelve and fif- -
teen per cent. With our crude methods we
would be lucky to free .05 per cent of gravi-*
um, but at that, . we would be fabulously
wealthy. We got drunk thinking about it,
and discussed some pretty fantastic ideas.

In the morning we awakened stiff and cold.
A soft purr sounded steadily outside. Green-
tinted rain was falling slowly. We looked at
it and literally turned sick.

I followed Hansen out, wondering where
all the water on Venus drained to. Maybe it
didn't drain! That was our terrible fear.

The drifts were constantly flooded now.
Thomas built six additional pumps, but they
clogged and needed constant attention. We
worked in soupy, sulphurous muck up to
our waists. Our lungs and hearts began to
develop ailments.

There was a knife fight between Deval and
Reese, and Hansen prevented murder only by
slugging them both with a pick handle. Deval
lapsed into sullen silence. Three days later
there was a peculiar slide at the end of Drift
Six and Deval climbed out of the hole with
a grim satisfaction on his face. Reese never
cam® out. Suspicion of each other ran
through us like a prairie fire.

None of the drifts were any longer safe.
We dug in for a twenty-foot maximum. Our
footings turned to rushing streams. The ceil-
ings dripped like sieves and dropped off in
chunks. We literally fought that planet for a
few pounds of ore.

At the end of wet, grueling days there was
the long pull back through the sucking mire
of the plateau and the fear of the man whs
walked behind. We jumped at unexpected
noises or the sight of our shadows. The last
of our morale had vanished. The expedition
was breaking up under the shadow of the lust
for wealth and power.

CHAPTER IV
Venusian Triumph

^JREEN rain pattered over Venus with its
crazing rhythm. The brash green ligHl
came through a port and put its tints and
shadows upon Hansen’s rough-hewn face,
m a ki ng him look unholy.

“We need Sails to navigate back to Earth.”

COSMIC

Hansen said with diabolical calm. “But he is
insane the moment we land. We stick togeth-
er on that.”

There were harsh mutters of assent Akeley
emitted a vicious, mirthless sound of laughter.

“And we leave Hugo Thomas marooned
here,” he said. “That’s murder.”

“Call it what you like, ’’Hansen growled.
“There is no other way. Those experiments
of his would drop gravium to fifty or a hun-
dred dollars per ounce.” He lighted a ciga-
rette. “When we get things in hand on Earth,
we can send a rescue expedition.”

I looked out at that terrible green rain.
There were limits to human endurance, even
for a man wrapped up in science. No person
who had been there five years could stand
much more alone.

Hansen’s voice came softly and dangerous-
ly as a snake. “Is there any man not tough
enough for this?"

No one answered. Murder is not pleasant,
but it is less unpleasant than being killed.

“All right,” Hansen said with finality.
“That clears the air. We are working against
time and don’t forget it. We’re going to build
a furnace and smelter right at the mine and
it’s going to take every ounce of stamina
we’ve got.” His lips pulled back against his
teeth in a wicked smile. “Just remember
that leaving Thomas’ weight behind makes
mom for a lot more gravium in the ship.”

That was the size of it and fear and suspi-
cion corroded in us. But we worked. Glumly,
we ate and pulled on coats and clumped out
into the rain day after day.

The mire of the plateau, oddly, had not
become deeper. But the water atop of it had.
It was up to our thighs in places. For three
days now there had been noticeable currents
on the plateau.

Moving supplies for the cracking plant and
furnace would have been a one-day job on
dry land. It took us three weeks. We kept
losing our footing. Supplies were wet and
skidded from numbed hands. We had to dive
below water and fish them up by touch, claw-
ing through that cold mud by inches. There
was real current in the water now.

Men shivered and coughed and cursed the
rain. But, stumbling with fatigue, we began
to build. Costigan came in with the report
that there was river current at the north end
of the plateau and the water Was up four
inches at the mine. Only Hansen’s ruthless
drive took us through that. He beat us
through as herdsmen beat horses through a
storm.

We had a meeting and it is good no artist
was there to catch the picture. We looked
like a circle of haunted maniacs. Even Han-
sen was down to skin and bone.

“We’ll have to call in Sails and Thomas,”
he said.

CARAVAN 69

Akeley’s lips jerked in a vicious way. “It’s
dangerous,” he warned. “All of us are talk-
ing to ourselves. They’ll stumble onto our
plan.”

Hansen looked at him with eyes like agates.

"We need their manpower. And men with
some innards.”

He said that for the rest of us, but the
shame had small effect.

The water had cut a channel between the
two ships, and now the current was boiling
away in a green lather. Hansen sent the men
to work and took me with him. We went
afoot, breasting a flood up to our chests.
Swimming the current was the most terrible
moment of my life.

Thomas blinked at us with his usual air of
having forgotten we were on the planet.

“Sixty-five days!” he repeated. "Incredi-
ble! I should have come over. But these
experiments made me forget.”

Hansen roused from his tight sullenness.
“Any luck on those tensile tests?” he asked.

Thomas beamed. “Great luck. The internal
and external stress remains the same under
all temperatures. I think with time we could
perfect a metal impervious to temperature
and weather.”

Hansen was tired. He leaned back and
closed his eyes.

“I’d like to own that process,” he said al-
most dreamily.

“Why not?” Thomas answered. “You’re a
good promoter. Well, well have plenty of
time to discuss it in the next three years.”

■WANSEN’S eyes opened and he came
slowly forward in his seat.

“Why three years?”

Thomas chuckled. “You don’t intend to
take off next summer and land on Jupiter do
you?”

Hansen turned gray around the lips.

“I don’t get this.”

Thomas looked at his protege sharply.

“Sails, didn't you tell these men that their
last chance to take off for Earth is in twenty-
one days or they’ll miss the angle of conjunc-
tion?”

Sails darkened sullenly and made a lame
excuse. Thomas looked shocked. He made
a gesture.

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew and
planned to stay.” Something boyish and wist-
ful came into his green face. “It is not very
pleasant, but there is fascinating work to be
done here.”

Hansen was staring out at the greenish
glare and softly gurgling waters. His lips
formed the words, “Three years!” His big,
tough figure was trembling. But he did not
crack.

We waited a period of light and than made
that grueling trip back to our ship. We ate

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

and rested and then struggled again to the
ridge. We stumbled into the cracking shed
dead weary.

“Well, we got the furnace hooked up and
enough power to smelt all the gravium we
can carry,” Fabray said almost cheerfully.
“But it will be slow work.”

‘YU take an ounce for my share and be
satisfied,” Deval snarled. “I’d give one arm
to get off for Earth today.”

Hansen gave a harsh laugh. “You’ll be
waiting just three years, mister. Sails out-
smarted us.”

Men stopped and stood like carven statues.
The patter on the roof seemed to sweU into
a deafening roar. Deval was holding the first
test of gravium, a small bit worth a hundred
thousand dollnrs. He dropped it and it sank
instantly into the floor.

Hansen looked at the circle of drawn faces.
If hysteria once started, it would sweep us
like a prairie fire. The whole crowd of us
might become raving maniacs.

Hansen cursed everything in hell and the
cosmos. Then he actually laughed-

“Well, nothing ever licked me yet except
this gravium,” he said. “We've got twenty-
one days to build a runway and by jumping
Jinks, we’U build it! We’ll get off from here
if we have to rocket the planet away from
us.”

“Leave without gravium?” Akeley qua-
vered.

The muscles bulged along Hansen’s neck.

“Thomas has one hundred pounds refined
in his vaults,” he snarled.

“Hansen, you cafi’t do that,” I yelled. “Not
that and the other too.”

He gave me an inscrutable look.

“Just let me worry about what I'm going
to do,” he said.

We slogged back to our ship and found
Sails and Thomas there. The scientist looked
us over with concern. Morbid despondency
had almost reduced us all to wrecks.

“Hansen, you must get the ship off at once.
Your men can’t last three years.”

Hansen’s lips flattened in a mirthless grin.
He had been figuring since his outburst of
belligerent optimism, and he had discovered
a new difficulty. We needed a full mile run-
way at least, but against the pull of that water
we would need a much stronger catapult
than the one we had.

“How about using my catapult?” Thomas
suggested. “Triple strength and now I’ve
coated it with gravium.”

Hansen's lips gave a queer jerk.

“Somebody has to release that spring. Sup-
pose we draw lots.”

Odd wistfulness crime into Thomas’ eyes.
The mere thought of Earth was like a lovely
dream after five long years.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he said,

promptly. “You’re Earth men. Your interest*
are down there. Much work remains to be
done here. Since I’m nothing but an old
scientist, maybe it’s just«as well I stay. Til
release the spring.”

Every eye in that room riveted on him.
Remember, this was the man we meant to
maroon — whom we had thought we would
have to murder! Now, voluntarily, he was
solving our problem and sending us on our
way!

A smile flitted over Thomas’ lips.

“Yes, there'll be plenty of working here
between mining, smelting, exploring and lab-
oratory experiments. Mostly, I think, I will
miss cigars.”

AKELEY looked at him sharply, then at
Hansen, then at Fabray. Hansen glow-
ered at his feet.

“All right, let’s go,” he said suddenly.

If that gravium fever had been wild, it was
not comparable to the tough drive this new
fever goaded us into. We set madly to wheel-
ing the great ship through the clinging mud
and up onto that little ridge. It was an im-
possible job but we did it. When we dropped
of exhaustion, Hansen came and kicked more
energy into us. He did ten men’s work him-
self.

The water was rising swiftly now. The cur-
rents grew. The gurgling became a hideous
growl in our ears. Men slept sometimes on
their feet, and came to and rushed back to
handle cold wet metal with desperate deter-
mination.

Ruggedly, Thomas worked beside Hansen.
His hands were raw from erecting the great
catapult and raising that mile-long runway
of wet muck. On the last day he took the
tractor to his ship. He came back towing his
special catapult spring and teamed it up with
ours. We tested our rockets and stood there
to say goodby. We were even too tired to
remember the scientist’s gravium.

Except, maybe, Hansen. There was a
strange look in his eyes.

“This leaves you stuck here — forever, may-
be,” he said. “It will be blasted lonesome.”

Thomas shrugged. “An old man, already
past use. Probably another expedition will
come along, equipped now with your knowl-
edge.” He picked a small package out of his
tractor with some effort. “The gravium I
had refined,” he explained. “I want ten per
cent of this to go to Sails to be used strictly
for experimental purposes. The rest is yours
to sell.”

Costigan stared. “At what price?”

“Why, for what you can get, of course,”
Thomas said with surprise.

Akeley scowled. “But you were talking
about fifty dollars an ounce.”

“Oh!” Thomas muttered. He looked awav

COSMIC CARAVAN

into the dreary green rain. “Maybe in a
century or two. If we had miners here and
a transport service established.”

The hour of visibility was passing in its
strange way. Not the slightest change of
light It was merely that figures receded
swiftly from sight.

“Into the ship, now, all of you!” Thomas
ordered, crisply.

His tone was the only sign I detected of
how desperately he hated this parting. He
clapped Sails on the back and pushed him
toward the gangway. A cheer floated over
his head- Figures were hard to discern even
at arm’s length now.

The port closed. There was a roar of the
rockets and their red tongues lashed out
through the blanket of pea soup rain. At the
foot of the catapult the scientist stood with
water swirling around his knees and his
bared head lifted toward the ship. Both
rocket ports blasted out their fierce, deafen-
ing retort. The tower strained.

Thomas waited until the last moment of
stress and pulled the release chain. The ship
leaped, dipped, skimmed down its wet run-
way, and at the very end, caught airway and
was off. Behind it, the water parted from
the fierce rocket blast. A brief second and
the ship’s red tails had vanished in grim
murk.

Thomas clung to the catapult while waves
tore against his legs. The water quieted and
he stood there watching the place where the
ship had disappeared.

71

The gurgle of the waters probably sounded
very lonely now.

“Well, there’s work,” he murmured to him-
self.

“ A lot of it, before they come back.” Han-
sen’s chuckle sounded like a dying whisper
note, out of the gobbling rain.

Thomas wheeled around. “Hansen! What
are you doing here?”

“Bosh! You’ve got to have somebody to
mine your metals,” he said.

Akeley’s metallic mocking chuckle came
from across the platform.

"You don’t think you’re man enough to
locate them, too, Hansen?”

“And smelt ’em?” Fabray demanded,
forming as a dark shadow in the rain. “Why
he thinks a smelter is a fish, Professor!”

“I wouldn’t trust a one of ’em, doc!” Cos-
tigan’s voice sounded. “They aim to rob you
of your few cigars.”

Then I came out, too, and grinned at
Thomas. All of us stood around and laughed.
I don't believe any of us knew the others
had hidden out in that shrouding cloak of
invisibility. Men are funny about getting
caught at anything decent when they’ve been
trying hard to play tough.

Thomas had the tractor which was radio-
compass equipped.

‘‘Well, gentlemen, we’ll give that next space
party a real surprise,” “In the meantime, I
invite you all to a tasty Venusian dinner.
Something I rather pride myself upon — baked .
lichens stuffed with canned beef!”

COMING NEXT ISSUE

THE DISCIPLINARY CIRCUIT

A Novelet of the Era of Perfection

By MURRAY LEINSTER

AND MANY OTHER STORIES

Scratch your head*

— *- and if you find . . .

Veuve got dandruff

mind .

• THE FAMOUS
FINGER-NAIL
(f-N)TEST

™ MIDROOT

CREAM-OIL

INTERLINK

By JOHN RUSSBLl M AI N

When a mental phenomenon causes his fiancee to be a space
pirate, Ralph Dale must save her from the firing squad!

A S SHE gazed at the towering cathe-
drals of light tracing the outlines of
the vast Twenty-second Century city
there were many thoughts in the mind of
Elna Haydon — troubled thoughts chiefly,
which even the anticipation of the impending
meeting with Ralph could not entirely dispel.
They were thoughts too deep for analysis by
herself alone — she needed to exchange them
with somebody she could fully trust.

At a creamy orange streak in the sky she

glanced up, watching that giant S pattern as
it rode down through the heavens towards
the center of the city.

Ralph Dale of the Interplanetary Police
brought his machine down at police head-
quarters as fast as prudence allowed. After
making his routine report, he hurried out to
the airbus station.

His mind was centered on one thing only
— the gray-eyed, blonde-haired girl who
spent her working hours as an electrotype

INTERLINK

•perator in the Federated World Bank — and
her evenings with him.

They were simple folk, both of them, sup-
plying their tiny share to the vast backdrop
of human industry which kept New York as
the hub of the Western Hemisphere’s indus-
trial power.

Ralph chafed impatiently as the airbus
chugged its way over the caverns of ground
radiance where traffic came and went — until
at last it brought him to the stop he wanted.
He hurried along the bright boulevard, smil-
ing as he saw Elna waiting for him with out-
stretched hand.

“Ralph dearest, at last! I’m so glad!”

He kissed her gently. His keen eyes
searched her face in the floodlights. He had
not been slow to notice the almost fervent
relief in her voice at his arrival.

“Something wrong?” he asked quietly, as
they sat down on a form.

“You’ve noticed?” She smiled faintly as he
nodded.

Then for a moment she looked out over
the city and pondered. Her voice was deadly
quiet when she spoke again.

“I don’t understand what is wrong, Ralph!
Whether I’m weak-willed or — oh, I don’t
really know how to explain it!”

“Canlirbe illness of the body,” he said. “It’s
udgrffwn in these days.”

5 “l.tlqCss of the mind then. It has happened
several ' times recently — an almost uncon-
trollable urge to do wild, reckless things.
So far I’ve kept a tight hold on myself, but
today — Ralph, I’m getting afraid for myself!
I even begin to wonder if I am going insane!”

“How absurd!”

He smiled and gripped her arm reassur-
ingly. Her gray eyes searched his face.

“Today, Ralph, I nearly murdered Cran-
fell, the chief cashier of my department!”

He started.

“You — what?”

“There! I told you it’s serious. And 1 did
it for no reason!”

Ralph was silent for a time. When he
spoke, he spoke hesitantly.

“In the Eugenic Record of your family is
there any strange characteristic ascribed to
your parents?”

“None. And they couldn’t have been grant-
ed a marriage license if there had been.
Nor is there anything in the personal records
of dad or mother to explain it They both
died normal deaths — except perhaps dad. He
hurried his end because of the strain he put
on himself with space explorations.”

“Didn’t you once say you were born in
space?” Ralph asked.

"I was — yes — on dad’s exploration ship. He
and mother went almost everywhere to-
gether. Does it signify?”

“I don’t suppose it does. I was merely

thinking that space radiatiens produce queer
effects on the brain of a newly bom child
sometimes, effects which do not become
apparent until later life.”

The girl sighed.

"Whatever it is I neither like it nor under-
stand it” With a sudden effort she aroused
herself. “Oh, let’s forget the whole business!
How about a show?”

"Now you’re talking!” Ralph exclaimed,
and caught her arm as she rose beside him.

jOUT whatever it was that was affecting
Elna must have recurred. The follow-
ing afternoon Ralph received the stunning
news that she had murdered Cranfell, the
chief cashier, and then escaped into space in
a one-man machine, even though she had
never piloted one in her life before!

To Ralph it was all so motiveless, so unrea-
sonable — and the more futile efforts there
were made to find her, the more worried he
became. He would not — could not — believe
the *tory then in general circulation that the
girl was a murderess.

A police dragnet was out for her, of course.
But Elna a killer? No! It was preposterous.

A month went by, then there began to
drift in from space a series of extraordinary
stories— tales of a daring girl pirate who
laundered private and commercial craft ply-
ing the ways. She murdered without ques-
tion, too, when necessary.

In fact her reckless deeds were so out-
standing that they took precedence over the
similar exploits of Delka, a young renegade
Martian who seemed to have come into
prominence about the same time. Actually
there was a surprising parallel between his
actions and the girl’s.

Then one day a radio-color photograph
reached Interplanetary headquarters from
space. Ralph Dale’s face darkened when he
saw it. It was Elna beyond doubt— cold and
brazen — nothing like the quiet girl he had
known and deeply loved.

“Well?” asked the Chief briefly, as he saw
Ralph studying the photograph. “Is it as you
thought? Is it the girl you knew?”

“Yes. It is she.”

“I must remind you that you belong to the
Interplanetary Police, Dale. No personal con-
siderations must be allowed to stand in the
way of your duty.”

“You can rest assured, sir. The girl I knew
was a quiet, hard-working, decent citizeness.
I can’t explain her about-face, unless her
father’s love of exploration is in her blood
and has suddenly taken this form. The
mechanism of heredity, you know. Then
there is another angle — ”

Ralph stopped, thinking of what the girt
had told him of her strange mental aberra-
tions. Perhaps that had been alibi talk.

74 THRILLING WONDER STORIES

“Well?” the Chief asked again.

“Nothing; just a thought which occurred
to me. Ralph clenched his fist. “Rely on me,
Chief — I’ll bring her in if it is the last thing
I do — if only in revenge for the way she
stood me up. Maybe she only pretended to
love me so she could figure out the inside
workings of the IP.”

Ralph saluted and went out swiftly, head-
ing across the grounds to his space flyer. He
made his usual routine check-up of fuel,
guns and provisions. Then he was off on his
journey.

It was a trip which spread into a week be-
fore he discovered anything. Then as he was
cruising idly at the halfway line between
Earth and Mars he caught a glimpse of a ves-
sel ahead of him. His space-reflector showed
it had no recognizable insignia.

Instantly he set the rockets going full blast
and swept towards the unknown vessel with
ever-mounting speed. He had come within
shooting range when his radio burst into life.

“Come a yard nearer and I’ll blast you!”

Ralph stared at the loudspeaker. Some-
where in the cold, biting tones of that voice
he recognized Elna.

“If you do,” he replied curtly, “I shall open
fire in reprisal. This is a police machine and
heavily armed. I think you’ve more sense
than to try anything. I’ll give you ten sec-
onds to surrender!”

Ralph looked at the chronometer and
waited. It was exactly 3:00 p.m., Earth
Standard Time. The second hand flicked
round steadily.

Then suddenly there came from the girl’s
ship a hail of high-velocity bullets. Ralph
heard them rattle on the thick skin of his
machine, but they did not penetrate. In-
stantly he set the rockets going, swung round
and dived.

Within seconds he was level with the girl’s
ship, anchored himself to it with magnetic
grapples. To his surprise there was no
further sign of attack. He waited in grim
expectancy — but still nothing happened. At
last he turned to the microphone again.

“I’m coming aboard! One trick and it will
be my duty to shoot you. I shall use your
emergency lock.”

Still there was no answer, nor could he
hear any sign of movement through the
speaker. It was a surprising development,
one which smelled of trickery. He got into
his spacesuit quickly. Raygun in hand, he
climbed out to the roof of his machine. In
a few minutes he had reached the emergency
lock of the girl’s vessel— emergency in that
it could be opened from the outside.

■HE SPUN off the screw clamps, lifted the
cover and dropped it back gently behind
him as he descended the ladder. Still all was

quiet, nor was there any indication of life in
the narrow steel corridor leading to the con-
trol room.

Gun leveled, he went forward, pushed the
control room door open with his foot and
stepped back to wait a volley. Nothing came.
Cautiously he peered inside, then gave a
start. The girl was sprawled face down on
the floor, apparently unconscious.

It only took him a few minutes to discover
that this was not play acting. She was dead
out, and it took him ten minutes to revive
her. Then she opened her eyes slowly.

“Ralph!” Her voice was only a whisper.
“Ralph, what are you doing here?” Sitting
up, she stared about her. “What on earth—
where am I?”

“It won’t do, Elna,” Ralph said seriously.

“Won’t do? What won't?” She looked at
him with wide eyes. “Honestly, dearest, I
don’t know what’s happened. The last thing
I recall is being at the desk in my office —
then I went dizzy or something. I suppose I
must have fainted. The next thing I remem-
ber was you bending over me. What’s hap-
pened? Are we in space?"

Ralph looked at her for a long minute.
Then he took her hands firmly and held
them.

“I’d like to believe this, Elna,” he said
quietly, “but unfortunately the, law only be-
lieves in facts, and my orders are to bring
in the girl pirate who has several murders to
account for.”

“You’re — you’re not talking about me, are
you?”

“Yes — you. It’s been going on for two
months now.”

She gazed at him in such utter bewilder-
ment he realized he had better explain in
detail. When he had finished, she was pale
with shock.

“Yes, yes — I believe it,” she said slowly.
“Remember when I told you I thought I was
going crazy? I can’t think what has con-
trolled me in the interval but it is quite
obvious that I haven’t been my own mis-
tress.”

She clutched Ralph’s arm tightly.

“Dearest, you’ve got to help me somehow!
Say that you will! Please!”

“I’ll do what I can,” he replied. “As a pri-
vate individual I’ll do all I can to help you in
court, and I’ll dig up all the facts possible.
But as a police officer I have to arrest you
and take you back.”

“I’m ready,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.”

The praise Ralph Dale received for bring-
ing in the girl did not stir him in the least.
He was deeply troubled, ready to seize on the
slenderest clue to help prove her innocence
at the approaching trial.

The Chief could hardly be blamed for hav-
ing no sympathy for Elna. To him, she was

INTERLINK 75

simply a cold-blooded murderess, deserving
of all. she would surely get. In fact, so satis-
fied was he with Ralph's capture of her that
he assigned to him the task of also trying to
bring to justice the notorious Delka, rene-
gade of Mars.

Ralph took the report of Delka’s activities
as graciously as possible, set himself to study
it out and, between whiles, try to think of
some way to save Elna.

The most recent report on Delka was from
Minrod of the Martian Interplanetary Police,
who had been close enough to the pirate in
a running fight to fire a long-period anes-
thetic shell through the emergency lock.

But even so, though unconscious, the Mar-
tian had still eluded him. Robot controls on
his ship had carried him away swiftly to
parts unknown. True, he would be uncon-
scious for some time even yet— but some-
where, either in space or in a secret hide-
out, he was there for the picking up.

“What a hope!” Ralph grunted and tossed
the record on one side. Then, its details
slowly crystalizing in his mind, he picked it
up again and studied the list of events once
more.

It was remarkable, but there was almost
an exact parallel between Delka’s activities
and Elna’s. His piratical career had begun
about the same time as hers, and —

Hurriedly Ralph pulled out the report on
Elna, which he had been handed before he
had set out to capture her. His heart began
to race a little.

She had held up ships and murdered peo-
ple at almost exactly the same Earth Stand-
ard Time as Delka. Most important of all,
the hour at which Delka had collapsed from
the anesthetic shell coincided exactly with
Elna's unexplained faint aboard her machine
— 3:00 p.m., Earth Standard Time!

Ralph sat motionless, thinking. Then he
rose from his corner of the rest room and
hurried to the Chiefs office.

r THE Chief was a good listener, but he was
-*■ unconvinced.

"I take it, Dale, that you are trying to
prove some kind of hypnotism on the part
of Delka. Is that it? Hypnotism by a Martian
over an Earth girl whom he has never seen.”

“Not hypnotism, Chief — schizophrenia! Or
split personality if you prefer it.”

“Schizophrenia, eh? But how do you ac-
count for split personality over two people?”

“Did you ever hear of twin souls?” Ralph
asked tensely.

“Between Earthly twins, yes. But certainly
not between Martian and Earthling. It isn't
possible, man! They both belong to different
planets, and they’re opposite sexes.”

“That doesn’t concern me,” Ralph said.

‘ "Hie re is a connection somewhere, and I’ve
got to find it!”

“Forget it! Your job is to find Delka and
bring him in.”

“Overlook Delka for the moment. Chief.
My interest is in the fact that from the exact
hour Delka was gassed into a long term un-
consciousness, Elna has resumed her normal
personality! I’ll swear that isn't just coinci-
dence!”

The Chiefs expression changed, and he
rubbed his jaw pensively.

“No,” he admitted, “it doesn’t seem as
though it can be. Well, I know how you feel
about this girl — so, within limits, what do
you want to do?”

“I want full authority to search her apart-
ment.”

“Okay. I don’t see it can do any harm.
She’s on trial for murder and piracy, so any-
thing is legal. All right, go to it.”
“Thanks!” Ralph said gratefully. “And in
the meantime, as a special favor to me, don’t
assign anybody else to the Delka case. I’ll
probably need to bring him in myself before
I’m through. The moment I know something
I’ll pass on the news to you.”

With that he hurried off, arriving at Elna’s
apartment half an hour later. For a long time
he searched in vain, then at last discovered
the wall safe behind an innocent-looking pic-
ture. The papers inside, chiefly legal docu-
ments, conveyed nothing of interest — but the
black, hide-bound book incribed Record of
Martian Excursion, 2116, was a very different
matter.

It took Ralph only a few minutes to dis-
cover that it was the log book of Ronald
Haydon, Elna’s father, complete in every de-
tail from the day of his first voyage to the
end of the trip.

Presently his hurried reading brought him
to entries which interested him deeply —

January 7. Today I am the proud father of a
daughter!

January 9. A terrible thing has happened!
Today I have been involved in a fight with a
wandering Martian. The battle ended inde-
cisively, but with tragedy as the outcome. The
Martian and his wife escaped hurt, as did my
dearest too— but our respective children have
both suffered severe head injuries — reaction
from the blast rays, I think. What am I to do?

I cannot bear the thought of losing her. . . .

January 10. I have come to an arrangement
with the Martian. We are agreed that our two
children cannot be allowed to become the vic-
tims of our personal hatred. I have decided to
use my surgical skill, such as it is, to save my
daughter and the Martian boy. Both of them
have sustained brain injuries. I hope to God I
shall succeed!

January 11. I have succeeded! It has been a
dangerous operation. Oddly enough, the left
frontal lobe of my daughter’s brain has been

n thrilling wonder stories

damaged, and the right frontal lobe of the
Martian. By grafting part to part, from one
brain to the other, and replacing the loss, with
synthetic material, 1 believe I have created
ganglia and synapses which will be fully ade-
quate. In each brain, there is a part belonging
to the other, but I cannot foresee any trouble
in later life since they inhabit different worlds.

January 22. The operation has been com-
pletely successful! Elna, as we shall christen
our daughter when we return to Earth) is well
on the road to recovery, and a recent radio
message from the Martian somewhere in the
void assures me that his son has also nearly
recovered. We have become real friends. I
wonder if we shall meet again? I doubt it

Ralph lowered the log book slowly, then
skimmed through the remaining pages. They
contained interesting facts, but none so inter-
esting as the information he had already
gleaned. He stood up finally, put the book
away, then hurried out of the apartment.

IS next call was at the surgery of Dr.
Drayton Grimshaw, the city’s foremost
brain surgeon and specialist. Ralph soon put
him in possession of the facts.

“Well?” Ralph asked. “Do you believe a
kinship is at all possible?”

‘It’s hard to say,” Grimshaw answered
slowly. “It has been my experience till now
that a mental kinship is only possible be-
tween twins, and is particularly apparent in
the case of the bodies being bonded at birth
— Siamese fashion. But here we have a case
of two utterly different planets and breeds.
So, despite the brain portions being shared
between them I cannot see — ”

“Oh, this is absurd!” Ralph interruped im-
patiently. “The whole thing is as plain as day
— even to my untutored knowledge. Look
here, would you be prepared to testify m
court that a mental link is possible?”

“Well — yes, but not with any conviction,
I’m afraid.”

“That’s all I want to know.” Ralph got to
his feet. “You’ll be summoned when the
time comes, and thanks very much.”
Thereafter he headed straight for the
prison and was permitted to see the girl and
impart his good news. She listened to him in
obvious amazement.

“But, Ralph, do you think that really is
the explanation? Do you believe that that
experience my father had with the Martian
could possibly — oh, I just can’t credit it! I’ve
read of that surgical operation in dad’s notes,
of course, but I can’t see how it could affect
me now that I’m a grown woman. You’d
think it would have appeared when I was a
child.”

“I contend that there is no other explana-
tion for your behavior,” Ralph said firmly.
“Everything fits in. Even if it doesn’t in
places, it is your one chance to escape a

charge of murder and piracy. In court, you
must support the idea in every possible
way.”

She nodded slowly.

“All right — I will."

Ralph gripped her hands.

“Hang on, he smiled. “You’ll make out
all right in the end— even if I have to shift
the universe to do it!”

To Ralph’s horror, though, the girl revert-
ed back again to her icy role of a female
pirate and killer on the very day of the trial.
In court, he heard her swear her own life
away. In fact, the whole proceeding lasted
only half an hour and ended with her being
condemned to death. She took the pro-
nouncement of sentence with stpny calm,
then was led back to her cell.

To Ralph, the blow was terrific. Obviously
Delka had recovered again, and the girl was
under his sway — but whether intentionally
or not was not clear.

That night, unsleeping, Ralph sat in his
apartment thinking the problem out The
only course left to him was a desperate one,
but for that very reason it might work. Elna,
as a state prisoner, would be permitted the
traditional death before a firing squad, in-
stead of the lethal chamber accorded to the
common criminal.

She would be led out into the small court-
yard of the prison, with its high enrirdhig
walls — at five in die morning, when there
would be little sky traffic and few people
about.

Ralph’s eyes gleamed as he sat thinking.
If he were to use his fast space-flyer, hover
over the courtyard, then drop a grapple
hook. . . .

Elna would undoubtedly seize it and be
whirled up to safety. If it failed — well, she
was doomed anyway, and by this expedient
she might have a fighting chance. But he
must know exactly what he was doing — the
layout, everything. In other words, a re-
connaissance was necessary.

Twenty minutes over the prison yard,
using infra-red photographic plates, and the
thing was done. . . .

The following day he spent in a study of
the photographs he had developed — then,
after a sleep and careful preparation, he was
ready for action by four o’clock in the early
morning of the day after.

Four- thirty found him above the prison
yard at an immense height, using the clouds
for cover and a Z-ray detector beam to ob-
serve what was going on below. Piercing the
pall beneath, the ray gave him a perfect
dawn-light view of everything. He waited
in tense expectancy.

r THEN there were figures in that empty
* courtyard, coming into view in steady

file. Immediately he dived down from the
clouds, but just as he did so die withering
blast of a heat ray smote across his rear
port. It cracked but did not break it From
somewhere above, he was being attacked!

He went into an evading turn, and the
movement brought him within sight of his
assailant. A black space machine, heavily
armored, and stained from explorations on
many planets, was hurtling down from the
heights of the dawn sky with the speed of a
bullet. It carried no insignia, no anything —
a pirate ship.

Ralph stared fixedly. It was clear now that
the attack on him was not being pressed
home — that blast had simply been intended
to clear him out of the way.

Breathlessly he watched the unknown
make a superb power dive towards the
courtyard. Without a hitch, a coiling antenna
wire dropped. It was Ralph’s own plan, but
executed by an expert — with one difference.

The antenna was better than a hawser in
that its coiling end wound round the girl’s
body and lifted her right out of the square.
Rapidly the antenna withdrew into a floor
trap, and the girl vanished with it. Then the
ship was streaking into the distance with
demoniacal speed.

Ralph hesitated briefly, bewildered by the
speed ,'Aiith which everything had happened.
Xfcien he glanced at his fuel gauge. That de-
cided him. In a series of wide circles, he
returned to the ground, coming to rest in the
prison’s flying park.

As he clambered outside, he saw the pow-
erful figure of Walsh, the prison governor,
hurrying towards him. Ralph waited, grimly
prepared for the storm. Of course they were
hound to accuse him because of the rescue
attempt the unknown had forestalled. It was
therefore a big surprise to him when Walsh
held out his hand in greeting.

“Nice work, anticipating Delka like that!
The only pity is that he was too fast for you!”

“Delka!” Ralph ejaculated, startled.

“Why surely! You knew, didn’t you?” The
governor looked a trifle surprised. Then he
gave a taut smile. “But you must have! We
all got the news that Delka’s machine was
heading towards Earth on an unknown mis-

“Yes — of course,” Ralph muttered, recall-
ing he had been too busy recently to listen
to news.

“You did well to pick up his trail, and even
better to guess his intentions. Well, what are
you going to do now, Dale?

“Two of the greatest space-pirates are to-
gether in the void! Obviously they have been
Si collusion all the time — and you are an ace
Interplanetary man. To me, it all adds up.”

Ralph’s brain worked fast. Obviously cir-
cumstances had played right into his hands.

LINK 77

“I’m going after them,” he announced.
“Get your men to fuel me up, will you?"

< The governor shouted his orders, then
turned back to find Ralph looking at him
anxiously.

“Governor, would you do- me a favor?”
"If I can. What is it?”

“Well, it’s rather hard to explain. You
know that Etna was — and still is — my fiancee,
that I believe in her real innocence?”

The governor nodded slowly.

“I know, but you cannot expect me to do
anything which might alter the sentence
against her. I am amply here to see that the
law is enacted, no matter what.”

“I don’t expect that, sir. I simply want to
play a hunch which may prove her innocence
— but I’ll need your help. All I wish is for
you to ask the Radio Police to stand by with
open receivers. And I want you to do the
same, because your word on what you hear
will be absolute proof.

“I am going to leave my own wrist radio
transmitter open from the moment I take off
from here. Yfltatever messages you get over
it must be recorded in full. At the same time
you might contact Judge Morgan, who tried
Etna’s case, and Mr. Grimshaw, the brain
specialist. Have them listen as well. Think
you can do that for me?”

“I can do it,” the governor assented, “but
it will have to be extremely convincing to
make the law rescind its verdict.”

“I know that!” Ralph clenched his fist.
“But it’s just a chance, and I’m going to take
it! Thanks again, sir.”

IEE TURNED away and hurried across to
** where the ground crew had just fin-
ished refueling his machine. Soon he was in
the air — and then the void. . . .

Slipping his telescopic sights into position,
he peered through them earnestly. Here, in
this colossal expanse, it was possible to see
for vast distances, so vast indeed that Delka’s
flying start went for nothing. His ship was
still visible, the remotest silver atom catch-
ing the sunlight against the backdrop of the
fixed stars.

Ralph set his course immediately, eased
in the speed control notch by notch. With
ever mounting velocity, he went streaking
through space at a rate which held his lungs
in steel bands.

It seemed that Delka had spotted the pur-
suit, for his ship suddenly put on speed— but
as fast as it was, it could not outdistance
Ralph’s hurtling police flyer.

At last firing range was reached, as Ralph
soon found out by the blast of a ray gun di-
rected towards him. He didn’t hes itate tm
retaliate with his own disintegrators. Imp
ularities of chipped metal appeared im mm
hull of Delka’s veaeL

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

Ralph snapped on his transmitter.

“Open up, Delka, or I’ll blast your ship
right out of the universe!”

“It’s as well to do as he says,” came the
voice of Elna through the speaker. Then she
spoke directly into the microphone.

“All right Ralph, come aboard. I’ll guar-
antee your safety.”

Ralph’s heart gave a leap. It was the nor-
mal Elna speaking. That made things a lot
easier. He turned and scrambled into his
spacesuit, anchored the two ships alongside
each other, then entered the renegade’s ves-
sel by the emergency airlock. Slowly, pre-
pared for any trickery, he walked into the
control room.

The girl was there, quite unharmed, stand-
ing by the control board — but she was pale
and obviously strained from her experiences.
On the other side of the board stood the im-
mense Martian, Delka, ugly as sin, his coarse
oddly flat face traced with a deep scar. His
big purple eyes regarded Ralph suspiciously.
Then at last he spoke. ^

“You may think yourself lucky that I
haven’t killed you, my friend! I have only
refrained because this Earth girl ordered it.
To a certain extent I am compelled to obey
her wishes. She and I are mentally inter-
linked.”

“I know,” Ralph said grimly.

“That saves a lot of explanation for me,
then. The moment I heard over the space
radio that she was to be executed, I came
to save her. I had to do it, because her death
would have meant my death too — and vice
versa.”

Ralph glanced idly at the minute trans-
mitter on his wrist.

“I don't understand what you mean by
that, Delka,” he said. “Explain in detail.”

“We are mental twins. That much you say
you know. You may also know that the Mar-
tians — particularly the males — have a far
stronger mentality than any Earthling be-
cause of a more advanced evolution. That is
why this girl is dominated by my mind at
times instead of mine ever being dominated
by hers.

“It is her normal will which makes the
domination spasmodic rather than constant.
But even as the parting of Siamese twins is
likely to bring death, so would the death of
either of us bring death to the other through
the immense mental shock involved.

“I learned from records of the happening
in my infant days which brought this about
There is only one way out We must remain
together until death!”

“Anything but that!" the girl said huskily.
“I’d sooner be dead right now!”

“I value my life even if you do not value
yours!” Delka retorted. “Just because my be-
ing an outlaw has forced you into being one

is no reason why I should die because you
don’t care to live!”

Ralph's eyes gleamed with the light of re-
lief. Those words, acquittal in themselves,
had been heard back on Earth by the men
who mattered, if .the prison governor had
managed to arrange it.

“There is one thing I know,” Ralph stated
quietly. “I was sent to take the pair of you
into custody, and I’m going to do it!”

“Not if I know it!” Delka snapped. Reach-
ing behind him, he whipped up a heavy iron
bar from the control board bench. His inten-
tion was obviously to throw it — but Elna
dived for him suddenly. The bar missed its
direction and crashed heavily on her head.
Without a sound she crumpled, motionless,
to the floor.

Ralph leapt, overwhelmed with fury — but
a terrific uppercut knocked him flying. By
the time he had got to his feet again Delka’s
ray gun was leveled at him.

“Lucky this girl’s thoughts only affect me
if she dies,” Delka breathed. “Otherwise I’d
be unconscious now. Don’t move unless you
want to die before — ’’

SUDDENLY there was a clanging from
^ somewhere above. Astounded, Delka
glanced up. Ralph too was so surprised that
he forgot to seize his advantage and Iboked
at the emergency hatch instead. It opetted!*-
suddenly, and the helmeted head of the pris-
on governor appeared, a ray gun in his
leveled gloved hand.

“You!” Delka exploded, tightening his hold
on his own weapon.

“Don’t shoot!" Ralph yelled as he saw the
governor’s hand move — but he was too late.

A shaft of flame bit straight to Delka’s
heart. He winced, gave a sobbing sigh, then
crashed his length on the floor.

Ralph could only stare dumbly as the gov-
ernor came down into the control room. Be-
hind him were others — Judge Morgan, Dr.
Grimshaw and several high police officials.

“I decided to get them together and follow
you,” the governor explained when he had
taken off his helmet. “We figured from what
we had heard over the radio that it was too
big a job for you to tackle alone. We heard
everything. You need have no fear but that
Elna Haydon is as good as acquitted right

“Acquitted!” Ralph gave a hollow laugh
as the brain specialist lifted the girl to the
wall bed. “Acquitted! I told you not to shoot!
The shot that killed Delka killed her too!
You must have heard what he said about
interlocked minds.”

“I — forgot that,” the governor hesitated.

“But she still lives!” Grimshaw cried,
swinging round. “There must be a reason —
(Concluded on oaae 87)

ONE CAME EACK

By GEORGE WHITEEY

The freighter's crew was ready to rescue the survivors
of the first two-way rocket trip to the moon, until —

I T WAS one of those distressing meals.
Personally, I can sympathize with the
Old Man. We all have our pet aversions
(mine is snakes, real ones) and to find such
an object in one’s food makes one inclined
to take the ship apart with one’s bare hands.
In the Old Man’s case it was insects.

And he found a cockroach in his soup.

Hie Mate didn’t improve matters. He sug-
gested that it would have been worse, much

worse, if he’d found only half a cockroach.

I thought that Pop was going to be liter-
ally! physically sick. A greenish pallor over-
spread his usually ruddy features, and he
gulped once or twice.

But he regained control

“Tell the Chief Steward I want him. At
once!” he barked at Watson, who was wait-
ing at table.

Just then the News came on.

THRILLING WONDER STORIES

The speaker on the after-bulkhead had
been ladling out music, dreamy, Viennese
waltzes that had formed merely a pleasant
background to the conversation. But when
the smooth voice of the announcer informed
us that the News would follow in just under
half a minute, Watson turned up the volume
control and all of us fell silent. Strange, how
these wartime customs still persist . . .

This time, however, the News was such
as to make it well worth our while to belay
the chatter and listen— just like old times,
when we were thrilled to hear of the collapse
of Italy, the invasion of the strongholds of
the Axis, the flight of the Austrian paper
hanger, the fall of Berlin.

The set was tuned to the B.B.C., in some
ways rather a pity. The Americans would
have made this news item sound as thrill-
ing as it actually was. Even so, one could
sense the intense undercurrent of excitement
just beneath the announcer’s calm, too ealm,
voice.

“It has just been revealed,” he said, by
Doctor William Hendry, the Astronomer
Royal, that a small object has been detected
which is, undoubtedly, en route from the
Moon to Earth. Dr. Hendry refused to make
a definite statement, but admitted it seems
probable that the object is one of the seven-
teen manned rockets that have made the
trip from the Earth to the Moon only to
vanish into the unknown.

“It is, of course, too early to hazard an
opinion as to whether it is one of the British
ships or one of those launched by the Ameri-
cans and Russians, but the astronauts, what-
ever their nationality, can be assured of a
welcome such as no son of this planet has
ever before received.

“When interviewed, Dr. Hendry gave it as
his opinion that the ship will fall in the Pa-
cific Ocean. All vessels in this area will be
warned to keep a good lookout for the ex-
plorers. The Admiralty announces that Brit-
ish and American naval units and aircraft
are standing by to institute a thorough
search should the rocket fall far from ship-
ping lanes.

“Listeners will recall. ...”

But the rest of the news was drowned by
an excited babble of conversation from the
officers’ table.

“So they’ve done it at last!” said the
Old Man. “Who’d have thought, in the days
of the war when we were all playing around
with all kinds of rocket weapons, that it
would lead to this in so short a time? '

“Think of it, gentlemen, the first men back
from the Moon.

“The reception they get will make Lind-
bergh’s look like the Vicar’s tea party.”

“Oh, do you think that it’ll be us that
picks them up, sir?” excitedly squeaked little

Chadwick, the junior cadet. “Just think of it,
we’ll see them and talk to them and hear
their stories. We might even get our pictures
in the papers, too.” -

“Wonder what the chances of salvage will
be?” growled MacMaster, the Chief Engineer.
“Those Moon Rockets must cost a tidy
penny.”

“Perhaps we shall find out what happened
to all the other rockets,” suggested Wayne.
“I still think they came up against some-
thing hostile.”

“Rubbish, Sparks!” Thornton, the Third
Mate, put in rudely.

UE WAS one of those young men who
knew everything.

“The Moon has no atmosphere, no water,
no life. They just made a mess of the land-
ing, that’s all. Now, this fellow who’s com-
ing back now will probably have too much
sense to try to come down on his main drive
through an atmosphere.

“He’ll almost certainly have no fuel left,
anyhow. He’ll use the braking ellipse tech-
nique. A pity, as that means that we shan’t
see him if he comes in at night. The first
we’ll know is when we find his parachute
draped around the mainmast.”

Captain Sinclair listened to the argument
with an amused smile on his broad,’ jleshy
face. He might have been some god, at ease!
and secure on the summit of Mount Olympus,
listening with condescension and amusement
to the bickerings of the mortals below. At
last he deigned to take part in the conversa-
tion once more.

"I hope you realize, gentlemen,” he said
heavily, “that Dr. Handry only thinks that
this suppositious Moon Rocket is coming
down in the Pacific. Furthermore, I would
point out that even if it does, this same
Pacific is a very large stretch of water.

“This ship is very small by comparison, and
a manned rocket will be even smaller. For
us to expect to see the landing, let alone
salvage the ship, is like one black beetle
hoping to find another black beetle in a coal
mine at midnight.”

The unfortunate metaphor brought us back
to where we came in.

“Watson!” he roared, “tell the Chief Stew-
ard that I want to see him at once!”

I looked at the clock. My lunch half hour
was over, well over. The Fourth Mate, who
was doing the meal relief, would think that
I had died, or something. Time that I was
getting on top.

I excused myself from the table and rushed
up to the bridge.

“Sorry I’m late, Four-O,” I gasped, “but
I’ve been listening to the news. They’ve done
it!”

ONE CAME BACK 81

“Done what?” growled Lath. “Made d de-
cent drop of pea soup for a change?”

“No, you mug. The first rocket’s on its way
back from the Moon, and they reckon that
it will fall in the Pacific. Think of it, man,
we might even see it!”

“So what? I want my lunch. She’s going
as you left her.”

I don’t know why, but all of us were
convinced that we were going to see that
blasted rocket. Probably the crews of every
ship in the Pacific were equally convinced
that they were going to be the lucky ones.

But never since the war had we seen
such keenness among the men on lookout
duty. And Sparks spent all his waking hours
at file D.F. on the off chance that the Moon
Rocket would land with its radio intact and
send signals to guide surface craft to its
relief.

But the day wore on without any signs or
wonders in the heavens and without any-
thing further over the radio than an official
message to all ships in all areas to keep a
good lookout for the first two-way space
ship.

That “all areas’’ damped our ardour some-
what — but not for long. The Astronomer
Royal had announced that the rocket would
fall in the Pacific, and fall in the Pacific
she would. Every time the Third Mate started
getting all technical and talking about brak-
ing ellipses he was shouted down.

But nothing happened during the daylight
hours.

After dinner, the conversation got back
on the one, all-important topic, but I had the
Middle Watch to keep. I excused myself,
retired to my virtuous couch and lay for a
while trying to read and listening to the
buzz of voices from the saloon.

Then I tried to sleep. I suppose that I must
have dozed off, for when the stand-by man
of the Eight-to-Twelve Watch switched on
my light, hammered on my door and shouted
"One Bell!” I was at the controls of a rocket
ship trying to make a descent into a sea
of cool, foaming beer. She just refused to
come down.

Without much enthusiasm, I climbed the
lee ladders to Mount Misery. In the chart-
room, I clutched eagerly at the cup of strong,
black tea proffered me by young Chadwick,
gulped it down to take the dark brown taste
from my mouth. Feeling more or less human,

I turned to the Night Orders.

“Cyro Course two seven three,” I read.
“The Radar is switched on, call me at once if
it gives indication of anything on the surface.
Keep a sharp lookout in the sky, and let me
know if anything is observed falling from any
part of the heavens — J. Sinclair, Master."

I went outside.

“Any sign of ’em, Peter?”

“Any sign of what?” demanded Thornton,
rudely. “Pink elephants? I’ve never seen
anything like this in all my sea experience.
The whole ship is crazy.”

“You’ve only been to sea a dog watch.”
I reminded him. Then — “What’s that?”

“A shooting . . .” began Thornton and shut
up.

■ T WASN’T a shooting star. Shooting stars
® don’t drift down with deliberate slowness.
Shooting stars don’t emit a continuous,
whistling roar, audible for miles.

“Call the Old Man!” I yelled. “This is it!”
In a couple of jumps I was on Monkey
Island and, with the standard repeater,
grabbed a bearing of the distant, fiery mon-
ster just before it dipped below the western
horizon. "Bring her round to three-o-five,”
I shouted down the speaking tube.

When I got down, the Old Man was on
the bridge.

“Did you get a bearing on it, Mr. Dale?”
he asked.

“Yes, sir. Three-o-five. And I took the
liberty of bringing her round to that course.”
“Good. But you’re quite sure?”

“Yes. I saw a rocket coming down that
way once during the war. It wasn’t supposed
to, of course, but it made quite an impression
on me. It was one of those beastly — ”

“Never mind that now. Slip inside and see
where this course takes us. I don’t want to
pile her up.” —

“Very good, sir.”

I was out again in a couple of minutes.
“Good. I suppose you have no idea as to
how far distant it was when it landed?”

“No, sir, but its rockets were still flaring
when it dipped.”

“A pity. Mr. Thornton, you can make out
a message. Give our position and the bearing
of the Moon Rocket when it fell. Get Sparks
to send it at once, if any other ship saw it
come down and got a bearing, it will give
a fix. You’d better ring the engineers, Mr.
Dale, tell them what happened and ask them
to open her out.”

They didn’t need to be told.

“She’s been going full belt since just after
midnight,” said Massey, the Third Engineer.
“The galley wireless has beaten you to it”
Meanwhile the Old Man was sweeping the
horizon ahead of the ship with his powerful
Zeiss night glasses. You know the things, big,
beautiful prismatics that’ll pick up a black cat
in a coal mine at midnight at ten miles range.

Finally he realized the futility of his ac-
tions. But it is hard for those of us who were
at sea before the war to accept the fact that
the electronic eyes of Radar will save wear
and tear on eyes of flesh and blood.

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“Fm not doing much good up here,” he
grunted, at last. "I can never get used to all
the fancy gadgets we have these days. But
I’ll be on my settee if you want me. If you
don’t pick anything up, pass the word on to
the next watch at four.

“Oh. and let me know if any other ship
sends a bearing or distance, or if we get
any instructions from the Admiralty. Good-

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with
the silent stars.

Yes, the stars — they didn’t seem distant
that night.

There was Mars, hanging low and ruddy
in the west, a fixed, unwinking light beside
the ruddy flame that was Aldebaran.

“You’re next,’’ I whispered. “You’re
next."

There to the south’ard, was the Cross, with
its two bright pointers, blazing beacons to
lure men out into Space. Alpha and Beta
Centauri — which one was the nearest star?
And how far was it? I coud never remember.
But it wasn’t far.

How long would it take if one could main-
tain a constant acceleration of, say, two
gravities? But you’d want atomic power for
that. And suppose one worked up to the
speed of light — what then?

Merridew, my cadet, • came across from
the other wing of the bridge and brought me
back to earth with a jolt.

“Light on the port bow, sir!” he yelled.

But it was only Canopus setting.

Eight bells came at last, and still the little
alarm bell of the radar was silent, and still
the little lights remained unlit.

“Give me a yell if you pick anything up,
sir,” I asked the Chief Officer. “I’d hate to
miss seeing the thing.”

“You’ve seen too much already,” said
Gregory. “You’ll never live it down if it
was a shooting star.”

But I knew it wasn’t. And so, I think, did
he.

Surprisingly, I slept very well until the
steward came in with my morning tea. Oh,
I admit that when I turned in I was really
excited, and the words “With daylight we’re
going to see the first men back from the
Moon!” kept chasing themselves through
my mind.

But I was tired. I hadn’t slept much before
midnight, and the excitement on the Middle
Watch seemed to have exhausted me. Never-
theless, the first question that sprang to my
mind when Watson called me was “Have
they picked it up yet?”

But I never asked it.

W ATSON himself volunteered th« in-
formation before I had a chance is open
my mouth.

„ yet, sir, ne saia. Ana

there’s nothing through from any other ship.”

“Hm," I said, reaching for my tea.

Then, just audible in the officers’ flat,
came a hail from the crow's nest to the
bridge.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t catch it, sir,” replied Watson,
and was out of my room like a shot from a

gun.

He didn’t return.

“This is it!” I told myself and was out of
my bunk with an alacrity unprecedented
even in the days of World War II. We were in
the tropics, and it was the work of seconds
to shed pyjamas and jump into shorts and
shirt.

When I arrived on the bridge, I found
everybody staring ahead through their
glasses. Unfortunately, I hadn’t brought mine
up with me. So I grabbed the ship’s telescope.

On the lower bridge and boatdeck. one
deck below, were the Bos’n and most of the
deck crowd, ostensibly there to clear away
the accident boat. They too were staring
ahead. Everybody except the engine room
watch on duty must have been on deck.

At first, I had a little trouble picking it up.

Once I had it in the telescope’s field of
view, and the telescope properly focussed,
however, it was impossible to lose.

It- was, I remember, a clear, cloudless
morning. Sky and sea were both a flawless
blue. There was no wind, but there was a
long, low swell, the aftermath of some storm
that must have passed well to the south’ard.

And there, right ahead, bobbing up and
down on the low. watery hills, was a little,
conical object.

Sometimes black against the blue it was,
sometimes silver as it caught the light. It .
looked for all the world like an aluminum-
painted starboard handbuoy that had broken
adrift from its moorings and drifted far out |
into the Pacific.

Its very shape, at first, caused us to doubt. !

We had expected, somehow, to find a long,
streamlined hull, with great vanes and driv-
ing tubes aft, floating, almost like a balloon,
on the sea surface. Then we realized that,
like an iceberg, the Moon Rocket was show-
ing us only a tiny portion of its volume — its

The minutes dragged by. and the distant
silvery shape grew more and more distinct.

Sparks came out of the Wireless Room.

“I’ve got the message off, sir," he told
the Old Man. “And I've tried to raise the
Moon Rocket on every frequency known to
radio technology, and a few that aren't. But
there’s no answer.”

“Their set probably got smashed up with
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the initial takeoff,” put in Thornton. “The
escape velocity from Earth is seven miles per
second, which implies ...”

Captain Sinclair froze him with a glance.

“Nobody aboard this vessel,” he said,
heavily, “is concerned with escape velocities
or their implications. Our job, as seamen, is
merely to rescue fellow humans cast adrift
miles from the nearest land. Mr. Wayne!”

“Sir?”

“You needn’t go back to the radio office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sparks took his place among those lining
the bridge rail.

Now we were close to the rocket.

Even at this short range, she still suggested
a buoy. A ringbolt recessed into the very tip
of the nose, heightened the illusion. It
seemed that her builders had foreseen that
she might have to be taken in tow.

There were ports, too, but these all ap-
peared to have been tightly shuttered from
'the inside. Thornton, almost recovered from
his snub, ventured to suggest that these had
probably been secured in place against the
landing and that the crew had not yet suffi-
ciently recovered to remove them. This blind-
ing glimpse of the obvious passed unrebuked.

“Put her on Stand-by, Mr. Thomtrtn,” said
Captain Sinclair. Then, a little later, “Stop
Both.”

r W T HE tinkle of the telegraph as the engineer
* replied broke what had become an oppres-
sive silence.

Losing way all the time, we glided quietly
up to the first spaceship to return to Mother
Earth.

Everyone could read the big black letters,
half submerged by the calm clear water,
painted boldly on the silver hull.

M R 5 — Moon Rocket No. 5

On the bridge, we could hear the murmur
running around the decks.

“M R, she’s one of ours! Yes, old England
was the first to do it. Wonder if they’ve
brought any of the Yanks or Russians back
with ’em.”

As though we were rounding a fairway
bucy we circled the rocket. There were no
signs of life. Another circuit, and yet another.
I don’t know what the others were thinking,
but I was beginning to have morbid visions
of a metal coffin full of half-cremated corpses.

And then we lost steerage way.

Rising and falling gently as the long, low
hills of water swept up from the southern
horizon, the ship of Space and the ship of
the sea lay in fantastic, anachronistic juxta-
position.

To a casual observer, we should have
looked merely like a vessel coming up to a
large silver-painted mooring-buoy, espe-

dally since some vagary of wind or current
had swung us so that our bows were pointed
directly at the rocket.

I don’t know whose idea it was to blow
the whistle.

Somebody pushed over the lever actuating
the electric control, and a long mournful
blast shattered the stillness.

“Who did that?” barked the Old Man.
Then, “It might be a good idea. Give ’em
another one.”

“Shall I take the accident boat away, sir?”
asked Gregory. “We could tap on the hull.”

The Old Man took two slow paces away
from the Chief Officer, bis face heavy with
thought. For a long moment he stood, head
bowed, chin in hand, then turned.

“No,” he said. “No. Not yet."

"But, sir . . .”

“I said no.”

“It’s opening!” shouted Merridew.

Once more the rocket irresistably com-
pelled every eye.

A round door, a few feet above the thing’s
waterline, was swinging out with agonizing
slowness. Below us, on the boatdeck, one of
the deckboys started to whimper. The Bos’n
cuffed his head, growled in a carrying whis-
per that if he didn’t shut up he’d soon have
something to snivel about.

The circular valve swung back till it was
almost flush with the hull.

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Still we saw nothing. It was very dark
inside the rocket, and the sun was behind it.

Peering intently through the telescope I
thought I saw a glint of metal, but I wouldn’t
swear to it What I will swear to is the un-
mistakable, uneasy feeling that we were
being watched.

Yes, there was somebody there.

Somebody, or . . .

What was that?

It seemed that something like a long, thin
whip flicked briefly across the pitch-black
aperture, then vanished.

The lens of the telescope seemed to have
grown misty. I withdrew the instrument from
my eye, pulled out my pocket handkerchief
preparatory to wiping it.

I saw Captain Sinclair let his expensive
prismatic night glasses fall, unheeded, to
smash on Number-2 hatch many feet below.
His hands seized the telegraph handles, and
from Stop those handles swung to full ahead
with a double ring.

“Stop!” I cried, wildly. “Stop him!”

I yelled to the Quartermaster to port the
wheel, but he, we afterwards discovered,
had deserted his post and had his nose glued
to the forward wheelhouse windows.

In that unseemly, undignified struggle
around the engine room telegraph I didn’t
see the rocket go down. None of us on the
bridge did. But they say that our bows
crumpled her like an eggshell, and that only
a large, oily bubble that came up right in
our wake marked the spot where she had
been.

When Captain Sinclair felt the shock of
impact he let his deathlike grip on the tele-
graph handles relax. He faced our stem
accusing faces with horror writ large on his.
Not the horror with which a man realizes that
he has thrown away his Certificate, his
rank, his very means of livelihood.

No. Something much deeper, more dread-
ful.

“The blasted things were hairy,” he said at
last “And they had feelers. And too many
legs.”

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(Concluded from page 78)
quickly — I’ve got to operate on her brain. It's
badly injured. Give me a hand, all of you.”

Ralph was the only one who did not. He
could only watch demusedly as the ship’s
emergency kit was brought into use, as the
surgeon’s hands worked steadily under the
roughly erected floodlight. It seemed hours
before he was through — then the girl was
lying, her head bandaged, on the bed. She
was motionless, but breathing steadily.

Ralph crept forward and caught Grim-
shaw’s shoulder.

“Doc, will she — ?’’

“A million-to-one chance,” the surgeon
breathed, mopping his face. “Her link with
Delka was through the subconscious area.
Evidently her father made a mistake, being
an amateur, in using that region.

“The blow that knocked her unconscious
injured that region of her brain, and it also
rendered her numb to the shock when Delka
was killed. It was a kind of mental anesthetic.
She will recover and be a normal woman
again, except for two things. Her memory
will be very bad and she will never dream.
Otherwise — ”

“Thank God!” Ralph whispered. Then a
sudden thought struck him. “But, Doc, why
didn’t Delka collapse when she did?”

“He had the stronger mind, and Elna did
not die from the blow — therefore he was not
affected. . .

Ralph nodded slowly and went over to the
girl’s silent figure. Thankfully, gently, he
caught hold of her limp hand, held it im-
prisoned in his own until at last her eyes
opened.

She did not speak. Neither did he. But in
that moment they both knew that the kin-
ship with a dead renegade Martian had gone
forever.

CAPTAIN

FUTURE

OUTLAW

WORLD

By EDMOND
HAMILTON

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HUNTING and FISHINQ

THE READER SPEAKS

(Continued from page 8)
a strong beak. What are readers going to say i
revelation. Cheerio — 50S Selwood Avenue, Ha
New Zealand.

Well, Jack — Kiwi Jack — it looks as if you have
plenty of nothing where back issues of SS and
TWS are concerned. As for the Kiwi business,
it has never been a secret. Most of the would-be
rocket ship pilots who write into this column
can’t fly, and they like to stick their long noses
into everything. Answered?

SUPPORT FOR THE
STACCERINC SARCE

By Ralph Clisson

Dear Sergeant Saturn: I
with your statements in
concerning Howard Phillit

■mplete agreement

i finds hidden records in wall (

Sludge who practiced the black a
Salem.

Searching further, he discovers some long forgotten

AH this finally e

S. I've only read 3 Issues of your mags
oy it very much, the stories that is. Sc_
work is pretty putrid, although the pic

ist Issue are better than usual, especially

Orban and Finlay.

Ipings and some
have THE plot,
spring Issue of
magazine but I

lng_W

The

rries Is e:

Siartlinc

i Thrill-

stories were all good, "Devils

. — c — — n Warkonia”

with the two novelets a close second. —
't Road, Merlon, Pennsylvania.

Thanks, Pee-lot Glisson, thanks very much.
How about a drink of Xeno on the house — I mean
ship — I mean. . . Oh, comet tails! No, only one,
and that for the support of ye Sarge’s assault
upon the oversacred fenmory of Howard Phil-
lips Lovecraft. No, he can’t have two, Froggie
— not after that crack about our artwork. What
does he think I’m made of anyway— Xeno?

Quiet, Wart-ears, you misbegotten son of an
Arcturean slime turtle!

EGO, EGAD!

By Robert Ego

mention them in your department for s

for 1

ories there i

•rs, and the mags are in pretty good shape.

Of course I was thinking of raising some ctuui uu
these Issues — but If someone could keep me supplied
with Xeno — hramm.

By the way. after getting past the opening of De
Protundis I found it was one of the best. It didn't
sound too promising at first for some reason — Lisbon,
N. Dak.

Zounds, Snaggie, another would-be raider on
Xeno! Lock up the other barrels and put the
an ti-everything -except- the -Sarge-and-his-min-
ions screen around them. The menace from
Earth may soon be serious if (what, again? —
yes, again!) M. Katerman is to be believed. We

**S«ioudy? gtad^you liked Leinster’s DE PRO-
FUNDIS. It's one of Ye Sarge’s favorites — not
that we want a pet ocBopussy around the house
or anything. Frogeyes is enough, but enough.

DIMOUT IN DOVER

By Joe Kennedy

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of these days maybe I will get around to reading the

thing.

Wh:

happened to the amateur story contest?

Wilbur Thomas Is a very good artist.

So am I.

Dirk Wylie had the best 1

_ .he READEB

SPEAKS I agree one hundred per cent.

There is too much Juvenile stuff In th_ ..
SPEAKS. This is shocking to me, naturally.

" am amazed by the lengths some people wl
it to get their names in print,
looray for Wylie!

Jliver had the second best letter in the RS.

Just jealous, tho, because he knows he is not so

. This n

No doubt.
If t

doubt frustrates him.

s have

scientific discussion in T _ .

science in my pretty Winston Encyclopedias, and
everybody will think I’m well educated.

I will not vote for Tam Pace as third best letter
because he quit corresponding with me.

Fie on Pace! Throw him to the grulzaks!

The reason '‘grulzak" was not in the FANCYCLO-
PEDIA is because Speer is so ignorant.

^•Murial Gida.^Cpl. Wells L Grimes, frank. Montague.

im hereby telling tl -

e an old copy of CAPTAIN FUTURE which I
only too glad to trade s om ebody for a

th^the grappling hooks !
te that I lead — S4 Baker

Take a letter, Snaggie, and get off my lap!

Memo to Kennedy — ummm — juvenile, he says,
juvenile ! — all right, keep it in. Wilbur Thomas is
a very good artist. As for Kennedy — his spo-
radic fanzines show him to be a fine fence, paint-
er. What happened to the amateur story contest?
Answer — too many amateur stories. Send us one
we can run, and we’ll buy it. Oh, yes — the plural
of encyclopedia is encyclopediae. Maybe he
should have looked that up. Toss Kennedy a
Grulzak next time we swing close to Earth.
I’m getting tired of their haying in the aban-
doned Xeno closet. In fact, throw them all to
Kennedy. Period. . . .

Roll out another keg, Wart-ears, and start the
bung. Gently now. Aaaaah!

MICHICONE

By Al Ashley

I appeal to you in hopes
ln « r are w a pusiuun io help on occasions such
On the 7th and 8th pf July, the Science and Fantasy
Fiction fans of the Mid-West will hold their annual
Conference, perhaps better known as the Fifth An-
on It

Now as you may or may not be aware, such gather-
ings derive most of their financial support from the
ubiquitous Auction of original pictures from the Sci-
— e FicUon magazines. So if you can manage to dls-
■er some of said originals laying about, can obtain
session of them, and can send them along for the

asion, you will, to say the very least, gain the

gratitude of a sizeable group of fans. And who can
say that such gratitude is entirely without value?

Thank you in advance for any pictures you may be
able to send. We promise you one of the Conference
booklets.— 25 Pop! or Street, Battle Creek, Michigan.

Okay, Froggie, send him a picture or six, but
when does he think we go to press? Shame on a
publisher Kiwi. What was Michicon is Michi-
gone by this time. Sorry, Al, sorry as Al get out

Dear Sarge: As you
with Wonder and Star tl

VERMIN FOR BERMAN

By Jerry "The Kid Himself’ Berman

Dear Sarge: The subject matter (or this letter will
cover two Issues of T.W.S.. seeing as there were
‘ e in r me b Sprin* e ish P DEVILS FROm’dARKONIA took
first place on the one two five rating system getting
•**. The rest of the issue followed In this order—

UNLIMITED— *•

BABY FACE—*

MARK GRAYS—

NO GREATER WORLDS—*
THE PLANT MAN—**
VENUS SKY TRAP
DELVERS IN DESTINY— *14

ji the whole mag wi . ..

1 the unnamed one for NO

I. (Orban?)

h Leinster’s great novel took first

'paU. *19*3~ ' The’ story rated 'a very g

„ tg it an almost classic r ating . Most of

other yarns were all right. PERCY THE PIRATE

THE DECONVENTIONALIZERS tied for second place

> V 1

n'm

you have a large s

) that he’ll write

f the army (he muff
pply of his stories on
te Manx stories. Go’
it to Inject some 111

,„_ji about Kuttner’s novel. From what I got of th-
plpt it soundspretty much like a serial he did for

feT««rMi S® r*

irT%is

ny estii

he Reader Sque
e, and will be e

(pardon Speaks)
better next time v

.. . ;S good

_.ie with toe i

Really the best letter wa

Charles Cosby, who made some thought provoking

S esUons. Why don’t you run a sort of q’ —

>— in one of the issues and really see v

your WASTE PAPER
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91

Heip Kidneys
If Back Aches

ne more thing, about Sergeant Wylie. I heartily

sEunys *»' ssa^ssnsi s *ss

the future jive-talk used in this department was funny
and sounded good. Now, I just scan through Saturn s
mutterings to see if there is anything of Interest in

_ sympathize with the fourteen-year-older’s

point of view as I am mat myself. But when it runs
to the chatter that the Sergeant gives out, that is

. _.e third time I will conclude, and in doing so

I want to give my sympathies to Wilbur Thomas, who
is getting his thunder stolen by Donnell. K any of
the readers of mis mag have old issues of SF maga-
to trade or sell. I would appreciate it If they
write sending a list of me magazines they have,
s getting into rather a bulky thing, so I will

sign off here 1016 Logan Avenue North. Minneapolis.

Minnesota.

If you do have any mags, Kiwis, don’t send
them to Pee-lot Berman — not after what he says
about us. Can we help it if the subtle nuances
of our sophisticated galactic humor escape his
fourteen-year old brain (?). Oh, all right, we’ll
back. down. If he has sense enough to appreciate
Kuttner the Great, the Mighty, the Magnifique
— perhaps, there is hope after all.

GRIPE FROM CRIMES

By Millard Crimes

Dear Sargc: After seeing me beautiful painting on
the summer Startling Storiet I had hopes mat TWS

Mystery Fans!

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I

r— ' • — — 't good old

TWS. Noo. unshakable in your ignorance, that's TWS!

A drooling little man came up to me and muttered
that he was looking for a pinup mag. I handed him
TWS and he drooled some more. "They also publish
fiction." I informed him. "As a side line, of course."
I explained. Don't gel me wrong. From an artistical
point of view the cover is good, even bette '

*•'- **■ 1 that I'm against.

On t

i there

pleasant matters. Nope. I’m afraid this letter is nearly
* T1 — . But after all. the good things don't need

the bad things that have to be
! be good too. Then every-
; won’t be any need for a
start griping because you
i letter section and — oh well.

- e* i know the piper is going P tL _

good cause. However, it sure would be nice if TWS

i’t have a
n not sad b

could have

vay, the le'tc
That's good

nake the a

d Thomas. That ought
its sign their pics. By
as slightly longer this
even longer. Cosby's

A few bouquets,
given to us in great quantity and

Hamilton — very good. O*'- "

Nice pic on page 13 but i
letter titles — 230? 10th S

stories were good t

Very amusing

Not such a terrific gripe at that. Kiwi Grimes.
As for Bergey, he and the art department have
a will of their own. Besides, we like his covers.
Even Wart-ears can seem a little dull— duller
even than your drooling little man — after a cou-
ple of thousand years cooped up in space with
him. And Frogeyes has a tic half the time, if
not a tick (he’s always picking them up some-
where) while Snaggie, and this is strictly confi-
dential, smells! Xenos and pinups are ye Sarge’s
only hope.

TVmBhed edges! Sissy stuff! Besides, if we
changed the magazine too much it might lose its
character and you might not want to read it —
and then what would happen to this old space
reeler and his three pets and his Xeno and his
nice battered old rocket ship? Stop, you’re mak-
ing me cryl Froggie, the Xeno, the music, the
three-dimejisional pinup! This can’t go on!

WHEN vou look YOUR BEST

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Glover’s at any Drug Store or Drug Counter— or mail
the Coupon today!

PANDORA S ANSWERS

By Mark Mersereau

Dear Sarge: As a bad typist, I have never written
in to your magazine, and I probably never will again,
but I noticed the letter in your Summer Issue by Mr.
Cosby, who included his ballot In It He was right
so I'll just answer his questions.

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should have. I bell

>ut how many pages a novel
e that that, is entirely up to
lltor, so I won’t put my two

To me whether TWS has trimmed edges or not
doesn’t make a mite of difference.

Would I like an ann. . . . ’’«%&’()* V*®V*M4/.
you bet I would!

Four stories in the annual.

I think that twenty-five cents is a fair price.

1 would like a companion mag of fantasy, If the
stories are not Just left-overs from TWS.

Four times a year is « »

have been good.
If a storv is rood
than oni
artists, s
all of tt

2 printed n
bat I have

•TdefniW

l the u

. ...... HH , .„ r . v , w Abe Lin coln.)

story that started me reading TWS was the
one Mr. Cosby mentioned, in which Captain Future
goes to Deneb, and for me goes double the last
paragraph of his letter.

Incidentally could you ask in THE READER
SPEAKS, if anyone has the mag? I didn't start col-
lecting them until later. Well even if you don’t I still
thank you for bothering to read this trash . — 9405 Bur-
lington Boulevard, Congress Park, Illinois.

All right, does anyone have it? So long now,
I’m breathless as well as Xenoless. See you next
swing around the System! -

—SERGEANT SATURN.

LET'S FINISH THE JOB!

BUY WAR BONDS

AND

MORE BONDS!

THE STORY

BEHIND

THE STORY

T HE redoubtable author of SWORD
OF TOMORROW here sits himself
down to his trusty player-typewriter,
puts in a new roll and emerges with a six-
eight time version of how he happened to
think of this issue’s entirely fascinating lead
novel.

The bones upon which the structure of this
strangely beautiful future fantasy is fleshed

4K

are, like most skeletons, things of grim and
foreboding aspect. To Henry Kuttner, they
spresent a very probable vision of what the
iture may hold for all of us.

If the Sarge seems a trifle serious in this
department, it is because the tone of the let-
ter Hank has written is thoughtful and def-
initely adult. So, casting away the Xeno and
other childish things briefly — yes, you scram
too, Wart-ears — your old space wobbler asks
you to read it in the same vein.

I’m probably one of the few fellows who doesn’t
have a post-war plan for Germany. I’ve known
Nazi prisoners, and found some of them out-
wardly seemed to be nice chaps, the more dan-
gerous because of that.

There was a sergeant I met — master sergeant,
I think — who had studied music in Vienna, knew
Schubert’s music and loved it, liked the lighter
parts of the Wagner Ring cycle — there are some
— and might have fitted very well into an old
Ramon Novarro film about old Heidelberg. Ex-
cept for one thing, he was intelligent and likable.

He knew— I won’t say . believed, because he
knew — that Adolf Hitler was Germany’s saviour,
and absolutely justified in everything he did.

[Turn pope]

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Although present production is exclusively de-
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96

It was a beautiful example of indoctrination.
He’d grown up with the Hitler Youth Movement,
and finally he’d been wounded and captured in
Tunisia, when Rommel was back-tracking.

Okay. Suppose you take a kid, of any race or
breed, and condition him to believe that green is
pink. Or that blade is white. Tell him so for
years. Let him see that everybody else believes
that. Set up an arbitrary system of rules and
make it work — for a while.

You’ve got a plenty good soldier eventually.

That German sergeant will never believe that
the Nazis were licked fairly. He’ll probably
always think that the Allies stabbed Germany in
the back, the old Versailles argument. And he’ll
regard his people as a gallant band of heroes
fighting bravely against overwhelming odds.
What can you do to fight such indoctrination?

Don’t ask me. If the plague were limited to
Germany, it would be easier to find the answer.
But there are war-mongers and demagogues in
other lands too — the samurai who ruled Japan's
diplomatic policy were one example.

Planned scientific education, over a long-term
period, is one possible solution. But science is
always boosted many years ahead during a war.
The Third World War, if and when it comes,
may be the ultimate blackout. And it may not
solve anything at that.

There’ll be people left who want war. They
may not call it that. Hitler wanted “peaceful ex-
pansion” — he said. Scientists as a rule are peace-
able people. A world administered by a non-
political, non-racial group of scientists might be
a swell place. But it won’t come tomorrow or the
next day. 1

I think there’ll be a sword tomorrow — or. the I
threat of one. We saw the failure of isolationism 1
some years ago. You can often stop a cancer in If
its early stages by treating it with hard radiation, .a
but if you wait, a scalpel is necessary. And if |
you wait too long, nothing helps.

The books of Dickens brought about needed
reform in England, debtors’ prisons, child labor
and so on. There've been some rather interesting
solutions proposed from time to time in stf books.

A lot of such Utopian plans were pure hogwash,
but some have decidedly been worth eonsidera-

In SWORD OF TOMORROW I propose no plan. I
I just wanted to show some possibilities, and how j
the human element might affect a future civiliza- '
tion. So— as far as the story goes — I hope the I
readers will find it interesting.

— Henry Kuttner

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